


Spring Flowers

by AriaDream



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel)
Genre: Diarmuid and Archer get to be daddies, History can be ugly, M/M, Peasants too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-09 09:57:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10409562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriaDream/pseuds/AriaDream
Summary: Diarmuid and Archer are in ancient England in the period of Camelot. The King is newly crowned but a terrifying disease is sweeping the land, and it has killed someone who should not have died. Diarmuid and Archer must take over raising an orphaned child and help her to her destiny. But with new role models, will that destiny change? Mordred may choose to walk a different path. Emiya/Diarmuid





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing too many things again, I know... but I had this idea for Arthurian mythology and I just had to share. :) This is set after Summer Heat.

“What are we here for?” Diarmuid was starting to feel extremely frustrated with the World. What was with all the peculiar missions? Archer pulled a grey bandanna off his head, using it to wipe the sweat off his brow.

“I have no idea but if one more person calls me something uncouth…” Archer growled and the flash of temper in usually placid eyes was very real. Diarmuid sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“I know.” It was shocking to think that ancient Ireland could be considered a bastion of tolerance but medieval England was making it look like it.

Diarmuid thought about it ruefully. In the Ireland of his birth, Archer’s looks would have made him so exotic it was beyond the pale. Men and women would have whispered, stared and if he was wearing his red coat, treated him as foreign royalty. Even without it they would have given him great respect as a foreign lord and perhaps a fae. And if he’d showed them his magic they would have feared him but also held him in awe, thinking him a new Cu Chulainn.

Medieval England, alas, was more cosmopolitan and familiarity bred contempt. They knew people with dark skin here, mostly pirates and heretics. They had zero respect for Archer’s coloring and in fact, Diarmuid had needed to protect his friend and lover on many occasions. Diarmuid did all the talking here, not because of Archer’s sharp tongue but because no one would listen to him.

Not that Diarmuid himself got a lot of respect. His appearance was a bit beyond the pale as well. Diarmuid wore black leather armor, tailored in a complete new way. Patches of skin were bared, showing off the best parts of his scars. Black chains, more ornamental than functional, tinkled when he moved yet could become eerily silent when Diarmuid willed it. On his neck were seven black iron chains, each dangling with runic charms. Diarmuid knew they were seals against magic and madness. And despite that, they weren’t flawless. Diarmuid sometimes had his voice grabbed by the runes which was… somewhat fine if a male voice came out. When a female one did, well…

“We need some food,” Archer said and Diarmuid’s stomach cramped, taking away any thought of his rebellious runes. God, food! They had trouble finding work which meant they had trouble getting fed. They’d both been turning to theft, particularly Archer, but neither of them much liked it. “Should we try to reach the village or forage?”

“Err…” Diarmuid checked the leather pockets sewn into the inside of his belt. “Village.” They had a bit of cash and it was spring. Spring was a lovely time of the year to travel and it was a bit shit for foraging, when it came to plants anyway. Nothing edible was grown enough to be worth it. As for the animals, they weren’t that abundant either. Archer nodded wordlessly and they continued. As they walked, Diarmuid examined his love.

Archer’s appearance had changed as greatly as his own. He was wearing bronze colored leather armor, just a shade darker than his skin. Beneath it, he had regular cloth clothing in shades of grey, comfortable and warm. It was all very suitable for a commoner. Leather armor for perils on the way, mud-colored clothing because they weren’t worthy of anything better.

_Do you think we’ll be able to make any money?_ Diarmuid thought and saw Archer’s one-shoulder shrug.

_We can only hope. Perhaps there will be buckets for me to mend,_ Archer’s thought was humorous and Diarmuid chuckled softly.

Archer was the only one of them with a gainful occupation. He was a tinker, a wandering tinsmith. Every place they stopped he made a bit of coin mending broken tools. Diarmuid did all the talking for him and set the prices. Sometimes they even pretended Archer was mute, to keep people from being demon-damned rude. It helped a little, sometimes they got a tiny bit of sympathy. Although Diarmuid vividly remembered one blowhard priest going off about how it was his punishment for being a heretic.

Diarmuid wished he could make money but he just didn’t have any skills. Well actually, he had plenty of skills but all the wrong ones. He could be a groom, a horse tamer – thank Hector for that – or a mercenary. Unfortunately, only the last one got him any jobs and they were sporadic at best. Sighing, Diarmuid shifted Vase Killer from his right shoulder to his left. If only he were a carpenter or something maybe he could find some work!

_You’re also a poacher, don’t forget that._ Archer’s thought was full of humor and Diarmuid mock growled at him.

_Shut up you dirty peasant,_ he thought back and saw Archer’s shoulders shaking in silent laughter, the short bow slung over them quivering with the movement. That was what they’d been called when some forest rangers had caught them trying to supplement the food supply. They’d been lucky to get out of that one alive. Penalties for poaching in these times ranged from the stocks to hanging.

They kept walking and finally made the village. Immediately, they both knew something was very wrong.

_Too quiet,_ Archer pulled his shortbow off his back and knocked an arrow as Diarmuid nodded, gently balancing Vase Killer. _No fires._

_Yes._ The village was still as a tomb.

Diarmuid deeply regretted that thought a moment later, when they came across the first body.

“…” Diarmuid looked at the dead woman blankly. She might have been pretty once, but she wasn’t now. Her face was purpled and ugly. Dead carrion birds were lying around her and Diarmuid swallowed at the sight. This was a version of the plague, newly come to Britain and currently ravaging the isles. Archer sighed softly before slinging his bow back over his shoulder. Vase Killer went back to resting pose. “Well, it won’t be trouble anyway.” There might be a survivor or two but they wouldn’t be any trouble. “Should we loot the place?”

“Sadly, yes.” Archer said with another small sigh. They both found it distasteful but leaving the money for the dead was simply idiotic. Soon they were practicing breaking and entering, tearing open doors and going inside houses. As they searched for valuables, they also looked for survivors. But they didn’t find anyone. “Very unlucky,” Archer muttered and Diarmuid nodded.

“Yes.” The disease usually wasn’t quite this thorough. “Unless the survivors fled.” Unlikely, they’d still be sick and recovering. The bodies were fairly fresh. “At least we can’t catch it.” They might be enfleshed and sealed to human levels but the Counter Guardians couldn’t get sick. Diarmuid was very glad of that, it was well known that the living could catch this sickness from the dead. It also affected the scavengers, which was rather terrifying. They were calling it the Ghost Plague, because it was rumored to be carried by ghosts. It was also said – whispered actually – that the plague was particularly lethal to those with mystical skill. If that was the case Diarmuid thought Merlin ought to watch out.

The misfortune of the villagers was their gain, though. Before they were half-done the two Counter Guardians had a lovely lot of coin and many small valuables. Diarmuid thought this little nest egg would easily get them through the winter. Could they parlay it into something more? Set up a business? Archer was an excellent smith. Even as he thought it, though, Diarmuid dismissed the idea. No Guild would accept a brown smith and without that they might as well throw their money down a well.

Resigning himself to endless penury, Diarmuid searched a corpse. The woman’s golden hair had been very beautiful and she was wearing many rings of fine gold. He had to cut the fingers off to remove them, a ghastly thing but absolutely worth it. Hm.

“Odd,” Diarmuid muttered to himself as he examined this woman more carefully. Her clothing was rich too, not silk – that was unknown to medieval Europe – but very fine linen. In brighter colors than a peasant should wear, too, a soft blue shade. Diarmuid wondered if he should strip the corpse before deciding against it. Diseases could be harbored in cloth and he’d wish this on no one.

“Diarmuid, this is strange,” Archer said and Diarmuid looked up. Archer had a cash box in hand and was frowning at it. “This is locked and warded with magic.” Say what?!? “Can you open it?” Diarmuid took the box, frowning.

“I think I can, but I’ll need to partly unseal,” Diarmuid warned and Archer grimaced. They always hated that. “Two chains, and make them… stars and shadow.” Each of his chains sealed a different runic element. Stars were willful but intelligent, shadow was calm and intelligent. They could work together. Archer nodded and Diarmuid held still as he worked at the chains.

_“My, my. Finally deciding you need us?”_ Stars spoke through Diarmuid’s mouth, a disturbingly feminine tone. _“With something that small? This is beneath me.”_

_“Everything is beneath you. You are the stars.”_ Shadow replied and Diarmuid reached out to pick up the box. He turned it in his hands, examining it along with the runes. _“This is not just warded but cursed.”_ Joy. He’d rather thought so. _“Something valuable lies within. Come Stars, we must work together.”_

_“I shall not!”_ Then the two of them began wrangling, using Diarmuid’s mouth to do it. Archer leaned against a wall, staring patiently away. Diarmuid wished he could tune them both out. This was the annoying thing about unsealing. For him, being Berserker was all about being a conduit for the runes.

Finally, though, Shadow and Stars got their act together. Stars broke the locking spells while Shadow dispelled the curses. Utterly relieved, Diarmuid let Archer put his chains back on. The runes tried to rebel but it was half-hearted. The one person who could utterly control them was Archer.

“Now, let’s see…” With his magic safely contained, Diarmuid opened the cash box before whistling. “Woah!” It was filled with gold coins. “Here, let’s split this.” Diarmuid said, scooping them out. “This is going to set us up for years!” At least four, by his estimation, perhaps longer.

“Hmm, yes,” Archer said, preoccupied. Diarmuid could guess why. This stank of something the world wanted of them. “We need to search this house thoroughly.” For any sign of what the world needed.

They searched the place from top to bottom and almost didn’t find it. Fortunately, just as he was leaving a bedroom Diarmuid heard a soft shuffle.

“…?” Turning back, Diarmuid looked around. A bed, very neatly made. A wardrobe that he’d already thoroughly checked. A chest of drawers, also checked. The window was closed. There wasnothing in the room that could have made a sound. Diarmuid frowned, rubbing his cheek before blinked as he realized. The bed had a skirt on it. Could there be…?

Kneeling on the floor he swept the skirt aside and gazed directly into wide green eyes.

“My god!” Diarmuid reached under the bed and the person – a child and my god it was small – crawled away. “No little one, it’s alright. I’m here to help you,” he tried to soothe. _Archer, I’ve found a child!_

_Coming,_ Archer replied as Diarmuid kept trying to coax the little one out. Finally he gave up and just grabbed her, his long arm making short work of her efforts to keep away. At least, he thought it was a girl. He wasn’t entirely sure. The child was bawling when he dragged her into the light.

“Most definitely a girl,” Diarmuid murmured as he looked the child over. Golden hair, matching the woman downstairs, gleamed in the dull light filtering through the window. Archer appeared in the doorway and the child bawled a little louder, making Diarmuid wince. “It’s alright child. It’s alright, we promise,” he said, trying to comfort her. Diarmuid knew himself though and knew he had no knack with children.

Archer, though, did. It took him an astonishingly short amount of time to get the child calmed down and sitting in his lap, as he sat on the edge of the bed. Diarmuid could only envy it as the girl sniffled into his leathers, curling up against him.

“What is your name child?” Archer asked gently and the little girl sniffled again before responding. To Diarmuid’s eyes she couldn’t be any older than two.

“Mord-wed.” Archer’s indrawn breath took Diarmuid’s attention from the child and he saw utter shock in Emiya’s face, his eyes wide as he stared at the child in his arms.

_Mordred. The woman downstairs must be Morgan le Faye._ This was supposed to mean something to him? _You insular barbarian!_ Hey now, he’d died before this place existed! _In Arthurian legend Mordred is the one who will kill King Arthur. Or rather, Arturia._ Diarmuid had heard of that and considered it stupid as hell. In Cu Chulainn’s day Queen Mebd had held a throne. Why was medieval England so intent on making old Ireland look good? _Keep basking in your superiority._

“Stop reading my mind,” Diarmuid grumbled. Archer was good at that by now, a bit too good sometimes. “We can’t leave her here.” That was unacceptable. Mordred or not, the child was just that, an innocent little girl. Archer met his eyes, a deeply troubled expression on his face.

_We’ve killed children before. Are we here to kill her?_ Diarmuid’s heart lurched as he looked at golden curls. Could he bear to do it? Could he –

Then abruptly his vocal cords were highjacked.

“This is your geas, children of stars and earth. Raise this child as you will, love her and hold her and protect her from harm. Help her realize her dreams. Break this geas and all the rage of the world shall fall upon your heads,” the Earth runes spoke in the voice of a mature woman, with absolute finality. Then Diarmuid was released and he stared at Emiya, meeting shocked honey-brown eyes.

“I… think we just became fathers,” Archer said after a long, stunned moment. Diarmuid looked down at the child, cuddled against him so trustingly and felt half-hysterical laughter bubbling up.

“I think we did.” Diarmuid couldn’t help it then. He laughed, long and loud and then Archer was laughing with him.

What was _with_ all these crazy missions?


	2. Ludenwic

“Poppy? We leavin’ ag’n?” Mordred had a truly adorable lisp, her bright green eyes wide. Diarmuid smiled at her as Archer continued to pack.

“Yes sweetie, we’re leaving today.” Not because they wanted to. Diarmuid and Archer had hoped they’d be able to winter in this small town. Unfortunately, the head constable had made clear after the last fight that they’d best move on. He didn’t give a damn that they never started it, he just wanted the troublemakers out of his town.

“We goin’ to Camelot?” Mordred asked excitedly and Diarmuid exchanged an amused glance with Archer.

“No Morry, we’re not,” Archer said smoothly and Mordred’s face fell. Morry was their pet name for her and she answered to it readily. “We’re going to Ludenwic.” Which apparently, would eventually be London. In this time period, though, it was a small trading settlement. They had been there before and while it was dirty and brutish, there would at least be no pesky constables and dangerous priests to make their lives a misery.

“Don’ wanna go to Ludenwic,” Mordred pouted and Archer smiled sadly and ruffled her hair as Diarmuid went to his part of the packing. They at least had supplies, thankfully. It would be years before their nest egg ran out. “Wanna go to Camelot an’ see the King!”

“That’s why we can’t go to Camelot,” Diarmuid muttered under his breath. If Arturia found out about her little sister she’d be tempted to have them all put to death. Tempted? Oh hell if she had half a brain in her head she’d do it. Archer thought she actually might not for honor’s sake but they couldn’t risk it. And even if she didn’t one of the knights who loved her might take care of the job.

_I don’t want to go to Ludenwic either. This is going to be a miserable winter,_ Archer thought glumly and Diarmuid easily read his thoughts. The long, cold nights in barely habitable cabins, the rude tables and nasty food and the people. Oh god, the people. The dregs of the world lived in Ludenwic. _It’s no place for a child._

_We haven’t a choice._ They really didn’t. They HAD to get settled before the snow flew in earnest. Mordred was just too little to be dragging out in the teeth of winter. Not to mention. _Air is predicting the fiercest winter we’ve ever seen._ Air was good for weather predictions, particularly if Stars helped.

_Here’s hoping we don’t freeze to death,_ Archer thought morosely but Diarmuid shook his head. He didn’t think it was at all likely, even in the awful little cabins. Then he oof’d as little arms grabbed him.

“You’re bein’ quiet aga’n! Don’ be quiet! Tell me a stawwy!” Mordred demanded and Archer began telling her a story as they finished getting the gear together. It was a story of Archer’s homeland and Diarmuid listened with a sad smile as he sang the beautiful song about the oak leaves. No, not oak, bamboo. Diarmuid knew the proper name for it now. Mordred tried to sing with him despite not knowing the words.

With the coins they’d taken from Mordred’s mother, the two of them had bought a good mule. They were loading it with their gear when an annoying busybody came to bother them.

“Must you take that poor child into the teeth of winter?” The matron said. Diarmuid didn’t blame her too much. She was a kind enough woman if hideously small minded. “My sister would take her in and teach her the craft of weaver.”

“Goodwife, we cannot. I have told you before, this girl is my brother’s daughter and the only family I have left,” Diarmuid said calmly as Archer packed things away. Mordred was perched on the mule, giggling and paying no attention to their conversation. The matron decided to try again.

“It’s a useful trade. We would love and cherish her. Please, goodman, this is no kind of life for her!” Goodman? That was unexpectedly polite for a wandering hire-sword. Still, there was so much wrong with what she was saying, Diarmuid didn’t know where to start.

“I understand what you are saying but I cannot. This is my brother’s child and I cannot trust her to strangers. I am sorry,” Diarmuid said as gently as she could and the woman stared at him for a moment before heaving a sigh.

“Then god have mercy on you all.” She turned away, shaking her head, and Diarmuid heard Archer’s soft snort. Glancing back he saw Archer’s lips quirked in a rueful smile.

_Of course, she would never ask us to stay,_ Archer lapsed into silent communication. They did that even more now, mostly to hide their thoughts from Mordred. There were things no child needed to hear. Diarmuid chuckled softly.

_A pair of troublemakers like us? It’s remarkable she’d even talk to us._ Although that was entirely due to adorable little Mordred. She was such a cute little pixie of a girl. She was also a dragon and homunculus and wouldn’t that woman just die if she knew? Diarmuid shook his head at the thought.

From the day they’d found Mordred the two of them had kept moving, not settling in place for longer than a winter. That was partly because no one would take them but also because of Mordred. She was growing too quickly. Roughly twice the speed of a normal child, perhaps. It wasn’t too obvious over the course of a winter, children did change rapidly, but they couldn’t chance staying any longer.

“See you later taffy!” A ne’er-do-well lounging around in front of the tavern called as they went past. Diarmuid’s hand tightened on Vase Killer as he glanced at Archer. He was completely impassive, just staring ahead as if he hadn’t heard a thing. Mordred was puzzled.

“Why’d he call you a sweet pappy?” she asked and her childish innocence was a balm on Diarmuid’s soul. From the small quirk of his lips and the lightening Diarmuid could feel through their connection, Archer felt the same way.

“Because I am the color of taffy,” he explained, leaving the fact that it was a slur out of it.

“Oh,” Mordred said, taking it at face value. Children were very literal, she likely didn’t realize there was anything more to it. “I want a sweet pappy, can I have some taffy?” And maybe it had just made her think of sweets. Of which they had none. Although.

“You can have an apple,” Diarmuid offered. He had a few, they were plentiful this time of year. Mordred’s bottom lip wobbled.

“I want a sweet!” Well they just didn’t have any. Diarmuid produced the apple and a small knife, cutting it up for her. A bit awkward when he had to tuck Vase Killer under his armpit but he was an old hand at managing the wretched thing. A bit more pouting and Mordred reluctantly accepted what she couldn’t have and made do with what she could. Diarmuid passed part of the apple to Archer before taking a bite of his own. Sweet and tart, full of juice, a really fine apple. Diarmuid munched quietly, Vase Killer on his shoulder and his eyes far away as they walked down the muddy and pitted road.

Ludenwic wasn’t much but it offered a haven for their kind. Hopefully they could winter there in peace.

* * *

 

“This place is stinky pappy,” Mordred said before sneezing. Diarmuid sighed, setting Vase Killer against a wall.

“I know.” Someone had apparently thought that defecating on the floor before they left was a good idea. Diarmuid wondered if they’d been evicted. Whatever the reason behind it, Archer and Diarmuid had cleaned up the mess before moving in. The stench lingered, though.

The place was, putting it charitably, a hovel. There was a dirt floor, a fireplace and precious little else. Still, it would keep the snow off and the wind out. The fireplace could be used to cook food. Oh, speaking of which.

“Let me clean the chimney,” Diarmuid said before turning to present his neck to Archer. The chain holding back the fire runes came off. _“You want me to clean up soot again? What do you think I am, your fucking maid?”_ Fire sounded like a rough and energetic young man. It reminded Diarmuid a little of Cu Chulainn.

“We don’t have much choice. We are both too large and we are not sending Mordred up the chimney,” Archer said, composed, and Fire sighed. Diarmuid felt his hand move without his willing it, running through his hair in an annoyed gesture.

_“Oh fine, fine, use me, abuse me…”_ Fire took his body to the fireplace and looked up. _“Wah-ho is this fucking flammable or what! Has this shit ever been cleaned?”_ Surprising oh wait no it wasn’t. _“Hang on…”_ Fire glittered at his fingertips before darting up the chimney, delicately purifying the stone without setting anything else on fire. It was a virtuoso skill that Diarmuid likely couldn’t have equalled as Caster. But then, Caster used magic. The runes _were_ the magic. Mordred laughed and clapped her hands at the sparkle in the air. _“Done. Hey kid, watch this!”_ And then Fire had to show off a little, juggling flames from hand to hand. Mordred’s squeal of glee was worth it.

Before Fire could get bored and do something stupid, Archer put the chain back on. Mordred was a bit unhappy to have the show end so soon and began to act up but then Archer caught her and gave her a tickling. Diarmuid just watched, amused.

Soon, everything was sorted out, their belongings put away and supper on the go. Diarmuid stirred the pot, reflecting on it. Thanks to its position on the coast, right at the mouth of a great river, Ludenwic was one of the main trade conduits to the outside world. Everyone living here made their coin off the merchants in some way. That meant a lot of bad things but there was a plus side and it was readily available food. Shipments of salt fish, oats, barley and other grains regularly came through. If they had the cash, the merchants were more than willing to part with it. Inland, that wasn’t always true. Some miserable years there was just no food for sale.

Shaking his head, Diarmuid forced away the memories of failed harvests and hunger. The food would be plentiful albeit boring or bad. Now, they just had to keep warm and keep Mordred safe. That last might be the hard part in Ludenwic.

“What a childhood,” Diarmuid whispered to himself. Living constantly on the road with two Counter Guardians for role-models, settling only in the trashiest places. What was poor little Mordred to make of all this?

_Better than being brought up as a tool of revenge and cursed to kill the King,_ Archer’s practical thoughts interrupted his dark musings and Diarmuid blinked. Well, when you put it that way it didn’t seem too bad anymore. _Do we have candles?_

_Oh, yes, I definitely bought a bunch before we left._ Cheap tallow candles but they needed them, they were just beginning to teach Mordred to read. Hmm, they’d need to buy a table. Why hadn’t this place come with one? It should have. Well, a new one would be cheap.

Mordred was whining for food before supper was done and they quieted her with another apple. Then it was time for supper, which was merely oat porridge. They all tucked in with good appetite and Mordred didn’t complain about the flavor or lack thereof. It made Diarmuid’s heart twist a little because he knew why. Even in the short time they’d had her, Mordred had encountered hunger. Money didn’t do much good when you couldn’t spend it and they’d been driven out abruptly a few times.

_I’ll cheer you up later._ The warm lust in Archer’s thoughts almost made Diarmuid drop his spoon. Their eyes met and he saw a matching warmth in honey brown eyes. _I refuse to be celibate because I’m a father._ Yes, they’d had this discussion before. Diarmuid felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. It was just so damned awkward sometimes and this would definitely be one of those times.

_Too bad you won’t let me use my gram’s trick,_ Diarmuid thought back and had the pleasure of seeing Archer looking mildly annoyed.

_That’s practically child abuse and we don’t have any brandy._ A great limiting factor.

“Because brandy hasn’t been invented yet.” Diarmuid said aloud, setting his dish aside. Mordred looked at him curiously. It hadn’t been invented when he was alive either, the ‘gram’ he was referring to was an old woman they’d met on a mission. Full of good advice but also some odd bits. “Mordred, want to practice the songs?” Diarmuid was teaching her the oral traditions, just as he’d been taught as a boy. Although he’d done his best to learn the songs of England for her. Gaelic wouldn’t get the child far.

“No, I wanta juggle!” Juggle? “Juggle me some apples pappy!” Oh right. Archer chuckled softly and got the apples out before juggling them for her. Diarmuid smiled at the small trick. Archer wasn’t a great juggler, he could only do three apples in a normal pattern but that was more than enough to entertain a small girl.

After the juggling they did sing, teaching Mordred her oral traditions. For most peasants, that was all they would get. But then they lit a candle and pulled out a piece of chalk and stone, to begin the laborious process of letters. Mordred worked on the alphabet, forming the letters with concentration. Diarmuid thought she might be a bit young for this but he couldn’t be sure. It was so hard to tell with her skewed growth.

After an acceptable amount of work it was time for bed. They settled Mordred down but didn’t sleep themselves, waiting for her to nod off. When the child was safely sleeping beneath the covers, Diarmuid and Archer both stripped and found a corner of the room. Diarmuid glanced down at the floor before deciding it was disgusting and just pinning Archer against the wall. Lust filled honey brown eyes met his before they kissed.

Archer’s lips were a small slice of heaven, drawing him into sin. Diarmuid caressed his lover’s growing hardness, guiding it to his own. They had no oil or even any butter so Diarmuid just lightly stroked the skin, feeling Archer moan into his mouth. When they parted he paused to spit on his palm. It wasn’t much but it would help.

There was no penetration tonight. By silent agreement they just caressed each other, rubbing hardness against hardness. Diarmuid breathed in Archer’s scent, that beautiful tang of stars, before capturing his lips in another kiss. God he tasted amazing, so fresh and clean. Warm hands went through his hair as Archer deepened their kiss, arching against his hands. Their bodies bumped together and Diarmuid enjoyed the feeling.

_I love this and I love you,_ the sincere emotion behind the thought hit Diarmuid hard and he sent back a wave of warmth.

_I love you too._ Diarmuid rocked his hips, stroking them together more firmly. He rested his head against the wall, into Archer’s hair, breathing in that beautiful scent. Archer’s arms were around him, holding him close and pressing them together more tightly. Diarmuid moaned softly into his hair, breathing in Archer’s heady scent. God, he was amazing!

They came to a peak together and in that transcendent moment of time, nothing else mattered. The dirt floor, the nasty little hut, didn’t matter. All that mattered was each other, the heat of their bodies, the pleasure between them and the joy they took in each other. Diarmuid shuddered softly with the aftershocks, feeling a warm hand rising to stroke his sweaty hair –

“Pappies?” Diarmuid went stiff and felt a matching horror from Archer as the body against him abruptly tensed. “What you doing?”

“Nothing child.” Thank god they weren’t doing anything now! Archer managed to speak impressively evenly. Diarmuid carefully wiped the gunk off them, dropping it onto the dirt floor. Dirt floors did have one advantage, you could just gather up a bit of dirt and toss it out the door.

“I’m cold I want you.” Ah, the blankets weren’t enough and it would get worse in the winter. Archer shook his head wordlessly and Diarmuid felt his amusement as he helped with the cleaning. It wasn’t much but they got off the majority and left the rest to dry.

_We are absolutely horrible role models,_ Diarmuid thought as they settled into bed with Mordred. The little girl said nothing about the funny smell, cuddling into them for body heat. Archer’s soft chuckle was dry and amused.

_Compared to Morgana we’re incredible._ Low bar to get over. _All we can do is love her._ Ah, so true. Diarmuid smiled to himself, a touch sadly, as he looked down at golden curls.

Love might be all they could give to Mordred, but they’d give it with all their hearts.

* * *

 

“Pappies this is amazin'!” Mordred’s green eyes were wide and amazed as she beheld the old ruins. Diarmuid and Archer exchanged an amused look.

There wasn’t a lot for them to do in Ludenwic. That was solely due to the season. The autumn winds were harsh and the storms were harsher, discouraging even the hardiest traders from visiting the British Isles. That would change in a mere month, when full winter set in. Winter might be cold but the weather would be better for ships and traders would come. Then Diarmuid and Archer could find work helping with the unloading. They were known here and trusted, to a minimal degree.

For now, though, there was nothing to do. So they were taking Mordred on a field trip to see the Roman ruins. Built near Ludenwic, they were a bit further inland, a more defensible but less convenient location. Diarmuid looked at the broken stone with a bit of regret. He could tell that this had once been a very serious fortification, built to last. And it had, it truly had, despite the years, decades, even centuries of neglect.

“Why it all bwokken? Wha' happn'd?” Mordred asked and Archer began telling her the story of the Roman occupation of the Isles. Diarmuid just listened. All he really knew about the Romans was that they’d never gotten to Ireland, largely due to the Scots. Pict bastards had been such a complete pain in the ass, the Romans had decided Ireland wasn’t worth the bother.

“Wonder if they’d have run into Cu Chulainn if they had?” Diarmuid muttered. His own life had happened well after the Romans but when? No one could say. Cu Chulainn was older.

“I highly doubt it,” Archer said as he watched Mordred climbing up a broken wall. God, she was taller already! Her mind wasn’t entirely keeping pace with the growth but that was fine. They weren’t going to force her to grow up too soon. Vaguely, Diarmuid wondered what Morgana would have done and then decided he didn’t want to know. “I think Cu Chulainn was older than Rome.”

“Oh hell no,” Diarmuid said immediately and Archer looked at him questioningly. “The Roman empire started with bronze and they used iron in Cu Chulainn’s day, I saw it.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Archer reached up as a gust of wind blew over them, adjusting his bandanna so it covered the upper part of his ears. Diarmuid was wearing a cap now, to defeat the winds. Mordred had one too but it was in his hand, not on her head. She hated it with an unholy passion and would only wear it when they made her. “I imagine the Roman empire was nowhere near Britain when Cu Chulainn lived, though.”

“That could be. Although if they’d heard rumors of Cu I bet the Romans would have decided Ireland was an even worse bet than Scotland,” Diarmuid said and Archer chuckled softly.

“Unruly barbarian bastards,” he said fondly and Diarmuid grinned. Oh they were and proud of it. Mordred was standing near the top of the wall now, looking down at them.

“Come up pappies! Come up! See the sea!” Mordred called and Diarmuid had no objections. He climbed up the broken stone, wondering how far they could make it on the wall. And was it really safe? It felt safe enough but perhaps he should make sure.

“Archer, the Earth runes,” Diarmuid said in an undertone and a quick flick of brown fingers removed a single necklace. Earth tended to be no trouble, unless it was carrying the World’s messages, so Diarmuid just glanced over the walls. He could suddenly perceive every crack and weakness, down to the tiniest dust shard. “Completely stable.” The voice of an older woman left his mouth. Then the black iron bauble was slid back around his throat.

Satisfied that the work of the Romans would stand a bit longer, they traversed the broken wall until they found a good vantage point. Mordred ooh’d and aah’d at the sight of the river meeting the sea, the sun glittering over the waves. Diarmuid thought the place would be particularly beautiful at sunset. Ah, how, he could picture that, Archer standing on the wall like a bronze figure as the sun gilded him with setting rays. An arm went around his waist and Diarmuid blinked as he suddenly received the same image but instead of Archer it was himself. He looked like a sentry on guard, gazing out over the ocean with Vase Killer in hand, the sun glittering off the chains of his armor…

“My god it’s incredible,” Diarmuid murmured, almost dizzied by the matching visions. Archer’s body pressed against him closely, his soft chuckle warm in Diarmuid’s ears. Then Archer was pulling him close, flush against his body and the kiss that followed was the stuff of legends. Vaguely, Diarmuid wished they could just have at it against one of the larger stones. If they’d been true Counter Guardians, immune to cold and minor lacerations, they probably would have. Well, no, not with –

“Pappies!” Oblivious to the sexual tension, Mordred barged between them. Diarmuid was glad she wouldn’t understand why his pants looked funny. “I’mma hungry! Where’s food?”

“Hm? Oh, Diarmuid, you brought an apple?” Archer asked and Diarmuid smiled, producing it. He was the supplier of apples. This time Vase Killer got to rest against a wall as he sliced up the fruit to share. They ate the apple as they ventured back down, to begin the walk back to Ludenwic. As they walked, Diarmuid vaguely wondered when they’d have to teach Mordred about prostitutes. She was going to be seeing too much when the ships started coming in. Ah well. He’d worry about that when the time came.

For now, he’d just enjoy his apple, the sunny day and the companionship of those he loved.


	3. Raising a Daughter

_Why does medieval England try so hard to make old Ireland look good?_ Diarmuid just felt tired as he listened to the news about the ‘king’ and his court. Which was all about the taxes being levied to fund his wars, curse them all. How much blood could they get out of this turnip? _Why Archer, why?_

_Mmm. In the beginning stages, technological advancements enhance social inequities._ Archer thought as they kept unloading the ship, listening to the merchants complain as they did. _Better technology and food production allows for more layers of bureaucracy. With those layers, there’s more of a need to keep those on the bottom strata in their place. Very primitive cultures are noted for an egalitarianism that would only be reached again in the modern era._

_I see._ That did rather make sense. Then Diarmuid saw something that didn’t gladden his heart. “Morry, stop running around!” Watching them help in the unloading was boring for her but that didn’t mean she could run around like a mad thing. The little girl was too likely to be stepped on. Mordred didn’t respond but she did find a pole and began trying to climb it. Well… that would do.

_Isn’t this supposed to be the Age of Reason, where laws rule the land?_ Diarmuid thought, feeling fatigued as he set down a large jar. What was it full of? Salt cod, most likely. Archer’s chuckle was very dry.

_Only when it’s convenient for the nobility._ HAH! _Something the King does not understand and would likely be quite horrified about if she knew._ Hmmm.

_We need to teach Mordred better than that,_ Diarmuid thought, knowing it would be hard. Mordred had the same basic character as Arturia and that included a lack of… not empathy, exactly, but comprehension. Arturia could easily empathize with another’s pain but truly understand why they felt it? Not so much.

_Talking to prostitutes will help,_ Archer’s thought was amused and Diarmuid sighed to himself. Mordred was very popular among the prostitutes. They thought she was incredibly adorable and often gave her small treats, apples mostly. There were other children too, from the working girls and Mordred was making friends. Filthy as Ludenwic was Diarmuid almost regretted that they’d have to leave with the spring. But Mordred’s growth was a problem even here.

Finally they finished with the unloading and were paid a few shillings for their labors. It wasn’t much, but it would help to supplement their nest egg. No one here cared that they were spending money they shouldn’t have. Diarmuid was sure everyone thought he and Archer were particularly successful thieves looking for a good place to hide out over the winter.

That rest of the day severely tested Diarmuid’s patience. Mordred was a good child, she really was, but today she seemed intent on driving them insane. Running around like a mad thing, suddenly having a temper tantrum for no reason Diarmuid could see, turning up her nose at supper then whining that she was hungry.

_She’s just having a bad day. Children do sometimes,_ Archer’s thought was completely calm and Diarmuid sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“I’m absolute shit at this.” He was, he didn’t have the patience. Archer was finally convincing Mordred to eat the cod, but it was slow going. Diarmuid couldn’t have handled it.

“That’s not true, you’re learning. And we’re all different,” Archer said and Diarmuid sighed before coming over to help. He couldn’t let Archer shoulder the whole thing himself.

Working together they finally got some food in Mordred before tucking her to bed. The little hellion looked incredibly angelic as she slept and Diarmuid smiled at the sight, curling around her. He was too tired for intimacy and Archer felt the same, tucking himself on the other side of Mordred.

Very tired from work and parenthood, Diarmuid slid easily into sleep.

* * *

 

Winter was easily the worst Diarmuid had suffered in medieval England.

Great snowstorms buried them in, making great flurries all around Ludenwic. They unburied everything because you had to, the traders kept coming in. Diarmuid didn’t understand it but apparently the sea still wasn’t too harsh for the ships. Well, everything he knew about seamanship could be inscribed on a plate in very large lettering.

He did understand the sleighs. Faced with this much snow, the merchants adapted by fitting their carts with runners. What they were trading this time of year was partly grains but mostly fish and to Diarmuid’s amusement, a lot of it was from the Isles. Apparently the fishing was very good around Ireland this year.

“I’ma cold pappy,” Mordred said, her voice muffled by the scarf she was wearing. They were all bundled up with clothing purchased on the cheap from some sympathetic merchants. Diarmuid appreciated their generosity, he truly did.

“We’re all cold child. Nothing to be done,” Archer said and Diarmuid glanced at him. His heavy woolen cap had a silly little tassle that looked particularly adorable. “Why don’t we run a bit to warm us up?” That would work as long as they didn’t sweat much. Heavy sweating was deadly in this kind of weather. Mordred’s eyes suddenly brightened.

“Play chase the girl!” Laughing, they did that, chasing Mordred around. They let her stay ahead for a while before catching her and giving her a tickle. Challenging, through heavy coats, but they managed it.

“You’re all adorable but the ship is in!” One of the prostitutes called and they left off their playing to begin unloading. Diarmuid didn't like the look of the merchant in charge and made sure to get partial payment up front.

Fortunately the man didn’t try to stiff them, just made a pest of himself as they tied everything down in the sleighs. It was annoying but Diarmuid was used to being yelled at by now. It took a while but finally the shipment was packed and ready to go.

When the merchants were gone, they went back to their hut. But before that they paused to talk to one of the prostitutes.

“Could you take care of her for a while?” Diarmuid asked the working girl, offering a small coin. She accepted it with a small smile. Her own littles, two boys, were tussling in the snow. Mordred ran over to them and they easily included her in their play. Diarmuid had noticed that Mordred played better with boys than girls. She was a very physical sort of child.

“I would be glad to,” the whore said with a saucy smile as she glanced over them both. She knew they were lovers, it was common knowledge. Diarmuid smiled back gratefully before leaving, content that Mordred was in relatively good hands.

_At last, some time alone,_ Archer’s thought was both amused and fatigued. Diarmuid hummed a soft agreement. This had been a rough week. They hadn’t had sex in… five days? For the two of them that was a very long time. _How do you want it?_

_Slow and gentle. If you don’t mind?_ Diarmuid wanted to just take his time, nothing fast and furious. Archer flashed him a quick smile.

_It’s like you read my mind,_ he thought and Diarmuid chuckled softly. Together, they went to their hut and stepped inside. It was dark and a bit fusty, but warm enough from the embers of the fire. Hmm, that needed feeding or it might go out.

After a bit of tending to that homely task, they settled into the blankets. Gentle kisses were exchanged and warm words whispered as they explored each other’s bodies. Diarmuid was struck all over again by Archer’s beauty, warm brown skin over lean muscles. But the best part was the loving warmth in Archer’s eyes, his sweet smile. Then Archer’s hand was cupping his face, gently stroking the scars.

“I love the way you look at me. Like I’m everything in your world,” Archer said and Diarmuid nuzzled his hand with a small smile.

“That’s exactly how I feel,” he breathed before kissing Archer’s palm. The soft catch in Archer’s breath was beautifully arousing and Diarmuid suddenly wanted more. Sliding down his lover’s body he settled between Emiya’s thighs. The heavy organ waiting there was hard and ready. Diarmuid smiled at the sight before going down on Archer, pulling a heavy groan from him. Diarmuid enjoyed that sound and settled in to please his lover, exploring Emiya’s cock with his tongue. He gently stroked Emiya’s thighs, feeling the soft skin and enjoying the way Archer spread his legs. A hand gently rested in his hair, encouraging him to take more and Diarmuid obliged. He hollowed his cheeks, increasing the suction and gently running a finger down the seam of his balls. Archer’s shuddering gasp was beautiful and so was the way he jerked, when Diarmuid gently pressed a finger against that sensitive spot behind his testicles.

_I love the way you smell,_ Diarmuid thought, entranced by the scent in his nose. So warm and masculine and so very _Archer._ Archer shuddered as Diarmuid rested a hand on his belly.

_Oh god that feels good but I want you,_ that thought, so full of need, sent a jolt of want to his loins. Breathing heavily, Diarmuid pulled back, letting go of Archer’s cock with a soft, wet sound. Archer was looking down at him, his eyes hazy with need.

They had some oil now, a bit of rock oil one of the merchants had brought in. It wasn’t very nice, a bit smelly but it didn’t seem to irritate the skin so they used it. Coating his hand, Diarmuid began to prepare his lover. The passage gripped his fingers tightly and Archer breathed out a gentle encouragement as Diarmuid gently massaged his prostate. After so long together, he was adept at finding it.

_Please take me now I can’t bear it,_ Archer’s thought was as hazy as his eyes, filled with lust and Diarmuid swallowed. Unable to wait any longer, he pulled his hand away before mounting Archer. Sliding his cock into that grasping heat was like a small slice of heaven. Gasping, Diarmuid held still for a moment, letting Archer adjust to being filled. Then warm, brown thighs were holding him close, arms around him and Archer’s voice gently murmuring in his ear, urging him to move, take…

Diarmuid obeyed, taking his lover in a gentle but firm rhythm. As he did he kissed Archer’s throat, sucking on the warm skin. He tasted so good! Archer dropped his head back, giving him more access and Diarmuid explored, pausing over his Adam’s apple and feeling it bob under his lips. Pulling back, he gazed into pleasure-hazed honey brown eyes, speeding his thrusts into that glorious heat. Archer reached up to cup his cheek before drawing him into another kiss.

_Crisp. Clean. Beautiful._ Archer tasted like heaven to him, like a high mountain stream, beautifully pure. Perhaps it was only his imagination but Diarmuid wanted to sink into his mouth, bathe himself in that feeling. When they parted, he was gasping.

“Shirou,” Diarmuid breathed and felt Archer shudder under him, the way those grasping insides caressed his cock.

“Diarmuid,” Archer’s beautifully calm voice, undone with lust, made more blood surge to his cock. Diarmuid couldn’t help it and speeded his thrusts, taking Archer a bit roughly. Breathing heavily, he tried to slow down. He couldn’t hurt him… “Oh god more!” Archer’s fingers digging into his shoulders, the need in his voice, made Diarmuid come undone. He took Archer in a brutal series of thrusts before suddenly stiffening, pleasure reaching a peak that was brutally intense and unbelievably wonderful. Stars flashed behind his eyes as he came with a heavy, wanton cry. Archer’s voice harmonized with his as the man beneath him went taunt, more pleasure as the walls around his cock quivered and went taunt. Semen splashed between them, painting tanned skin.

Breathing heavily, Diarmuid slowly came down from the high. He buried his face in the blankets beside Archer, nuzzling his hair and breathing in his scent. He felt it as Emiya did the same to him, nuzzling his cheek before kissing the point of his jaw, tongue darting out to caress his scars. Diarmuid shivered before slowly pulling away and just looking at his lover. Archer was like an angel, lying in the blankets with his eyes so heavy lidded, his expression one of quiet bliss.

“You are incredible,” Diarmuid murmured, finding it impossible to look away. Archer smiled at him, warmth in his honey brown eyes.

“Does that mean you’ll clean me off?” Archer murmured and Diarmuid had to laugh. Clean him off? Oh yes. Smiling wickedly he crawled forward and saw and felt Archer’s surprise, the widening of his eyes. Diarmuid gave him a teasing smile before lowering his face and lapping at the spilled cum. It didn’t taste bad and the feel of Archer’s warm skin beneath… the hitch in Archer’s breath, the shiver that ran through his body, made it more than worth it. “Are you… really…?”

“Mmm,” Diarmuid continued cleaning off the spilled semen, rather enjoying it. Mainly because of the warm scent of Archer. It permeated everything, including his cum. Emiya’s reactions were delicious too, the way he shivered as Diarmuid slowly cleaned his skin, pausing to worship his body along the way. By the time he was done, Archer was breathing heavily, his honey brown eyes hazed with lust. There was a suspicious hardness poking his thigh and Diarmuid smiled into his face, aware of his own erection. “I want to ride you,” he said and felt and saw Archer’s surprise. That wasn’t something he often did but Diarmuid was definitely in the mood for it today.

“Please, do it,” Archer said breathily and Diarmuid smiled as he reached for the oil. He prepared himself, stretching his own hole as he sat on Archer’s legs. He could feel his lover’s eyes on him, watching as he spread his legs, hitching up one knee for better access.

Then Diarmuid adjusted himself and gripped Emiya’s cock. He slowly lowered himself onto it, gasping at the feeling of being filled. It was different, not entirely what he enjoyed but still interesting… Diarmuid half-closed his eyes, waiting for a moment to adjust. He could feel the tension in Archer’s body, the struggle not to push up. Diarmuid chuckled softly before beginning to move.

“Oh my god, Shirou,” Diarmuid moaned and heard Archer’s breathy gasp before tanned hands grasped his hips, pulling him deliciously close. “Ah…!” Diarmuid rested his hands on Archer’s chest, their eyes meeting as their bodies also met. The pleasure was incredible and it deepened as they kissed, pale and tan, dark and light.

Archer’s cock filled him to the brim and Diarmuid felt a deep ache inside, promising pain in the morning. He didn’t care, shuddering in pleasure as Emiya’s cock scraped against his prostate. A tanned hand encircled his cock, stroking him in time with the movements of their bodies. Diarmuid actively participated, matching Archer’s movements with smooth shifts of his hips. Archer’s heady groan sent more blood to his cock and Diarmuid breathed a soft curse as Emiya thumbed the head of his cock.

“Diarmuid, you feel so incredible around me, so hot and tight…” Emiya’s voice, the usual calm tones filled with pleasure, almost made him cum. But Diarmuid hung on, breathing soft encouragements for his lover to take him harder, faster. Archer obliged and the pleasure was so intense!

“Shirou…!” Diarmuid cried and that was the end for them both. The pleasure snapped and Diarmuid stiffened as his body went taut, cum spurting messily as he spent himself. He felt Archer tense, the deep, liquid heat as his lover shot inside him. “Hnnh,” Diarmuid breathed heavily, resting his hands on Archer’s chest as the exhaustion hit. That was… so much…

“Diarmuid,” the sound of his name on Archer’s lips was heaven, even moreso when he was pulled into another kiss. They lay together for a moment, heedless of the mess beginning to dry on their skin. Diarmuid lifted his head to look into honey brown eyes, tired and hazed with the aftershocks of pleasure.

_I love you so much,_ Diarmuid’s thought was layered with those feelings, affection, respect, adoration, the very essence of love. Archer’s eyes widened for a moment before he shuddered.

_I love you as well,_ he thought and to Diarmuid, it felt like Shirou was exposing his heart. The same feelings he’d given came back to him and Diarmuid gasped at the impact. _Say my name again._

“Shirou,” Diarmuid breathed and they kissed again, this time slow and gentle. “Shirou.” The beautiful, foreign name rolled off his tongue so easily. For a moment, they lay together, just basking in the feelings.

Then Archer stirred and practicality reasserted itself.

“This is marvelous but we need to clean up and get Mordred,” Archer said and Diarmuid groaned before slowly pulling himself away. Cum leaked out of hole and Diarmuid was aware of a painful sting in his rear. He just didn’t do this enough, it always hurt when he did. Archer’s brows pulled down a touch as he registered the way Diarmuid was moving. “…Sorry.”

“Tsh, don’t be sorry. I was the one saying harder, faster,” Diarmuid said with a grin and Archer blinked before smiling, a small quirk of the lips. “Let’s see – ah, here.” Some rags they could clean up with. This was quite a mess.

Just like in ancient Greece, cloth was too precious to waste and tissues weren’t a thing. So they ended up washing the rags and then hanging them up to dry inside. There was no choice in that, if they hung them outside they’d be icicles. Inside they would be fusty but at least dry. Diarmuid thought longingly of clean clothing but that wasn’t going to happen until spring. Washing clothes in the winter was lunacy.

Reflecting on the status of their stink – this place was filthier than Greece, that was for damned sure – Diarmuid finished with his rags and watched as Archer pinned up the last few. He was still naked, his body beautiful even in the dim light of the hut. Archer caught him watching and smiled, his honey brown eyes warm. Diarmuid smiled before going to put on his clothing. They really did need Morry back for supper.

Fully dressed, they went to fetch their young daughter and found she’d had an excellent time. The prostitute watching her said several good things, but then one thing that was anything but.

“She’s growing so fast! I can scarcely believe how much taller she’s gotten!” Diarmuid smiled in apparently pride but internally he was wincing. As they headed back, Mordred skipping ahead of them, his eyes slid to Emiya. Their eyes met for a moment and Diarmuid knew they were thinking the exact same thing.

_We can’t come back to Ludenwic next year._ Archer thought and Diarmuid nodded. That was obvious but where should they go? _Far to the North. We’re too memorable._ Ugh. Too damned true. Couldn’t the World had changed their appearances? They were both striking and beautiful and too damned easy to remember. Unfortunately, that meant Mordred was easy to remember too and they couldn’t afford much attention on her. Although.

_Most of these merchants are going to Camelot,_ Diarmuid thought and saw Archer’s lips tighten. _I know it’s a chance but we’d just be going through and that’s on the way North. We could easily find a caravan leaving and avoiding Camelot limits our options._ In Ludenwic, they could likely find a merchant who would hire Diarmuid to help guard the caravan. Likely one of the seedier ones but that was alright. Would they be willing to hire Archer? Well if they didn’t Diarmuid would insist he be allowed to come along and be given free board. They could do that much.

_I fear you are right and we need to make the money last. But that’s not until spring,_ Archer thought and Diarmuid nodded. This was rather premature.

That night, they ate supper – cod stew, it had been slow cooking over the fire all day – and began teaching Mordred about the bible. They had a dog-eared copy, the only book they owned. Books were very expensive in this day and age and pleasure reading was a thing of the nobility, if they knew how to read. Plenty of them didn’t.

_Ironic that we took it from Morgan,_ Archer commented and Diarmuid smiled a bit as he began reading one of the easier stories, Morgan in his lap, trying to follow the words. _A shame we can’t do anything with our knowledge._

_Too true._ Archer was better educated than the King herself yet couldn’t do a thing with it. Diarmuid had a smattering of education from all his time in the modern world, but it was strange and lopsided. His upbringing as a knight had likely been comparable to Arturia’s. _You do make an excellent tinker._ Those villagers had no idea what a deal they were getting. Archer’s chuckle was warm and soft, as Diarmuid continued the story of Jesus turning water into wine.

The further irony, though, was the fact that Diarmuid was a pagan and Archer a heretic. Oddly enough, Archer was Christian, raised in the Catholic faith. But all the changes the Church had undergone over the centuries rendered his modern-day version heretical to fifth century Britons. Also, Archer didn’t take his faith very seriously, another thing that was anathema in the dark ages. Diarmuid, meanwhile, believed in the old gods of Ireland. A pack of bastards, no better than Zeus and his wandering dick, but that was just the way of things. Also, Diarmuid suspected that people wanted the gods partly so they could blame them when everything went wrong.

“I wanna diffent story!” Mordred said when he finished the bible story. Diarmuid blinked at her and she looked up at him with innocent eyes. “Tell me about Cu!” …Ahahaha. Diarmuid knew he likely shouldn’t be filling her ears with stories of Ireland but…

_Why not? Cu Chulainn is already a legend and she’s supposed to be your niece,_ Archer’s practical thought made him nod. And then he began telling Mordred a story about Cu Chulainn, how he’d first become a hero, all by spending time fishing when he ought to have been listening to the seer. Mordred giggled when Diarmuid sadly said that the great hero was also an idiot and felt Archer’s silent laughter. And for just a moment, Diarmuid imagined that he caught a hint of Cu Chulainn’s ghostly laughter. Smiling, Diarmuid continued with the story.

It was likely only his imagination but he could so easily imagine the ghost of his mentor, laughing by their sides.


	4. Camelot

“My god it’s gorgeous,” Diarmuid breathed as they stood on the broken walls, surveying the land around them. Archer hummed softly in agreement.

“Look at the flowers!” Mordred’s lisp was already vanishing with her increasing height. Big green eyes gazed over the spring flowers in wonder. “Pappies, it’s incredible!” Incredible? Diarmuid smiled a bit. Mordred’s vocabulary was growing bigger by the day.

The walls of the Romans were the best vantage point to take in the glory of the hills and today there’d been no ships, so Diarmuid and Archer had decided to go. It was absolutely worth it. Around the walls, the rolling hills of Ludenwic were covered in grass and crocuses, the first flowers of the season. Grey boulders stuck out of the green carpet, covered in moss, and Diarmuid suddenly felt intensely homesick. God this place looked so much like Ireland, it was almost painful. He could imagine riding over these hills, his fellow knights by his side…

A hand on his shoulder recalled him to the present and Diarmuid turned his head to meet concerned, honey brown eyes. Reaching up he took Archer’s hand and gave him a squeeze, smiling reassuringly. A gentle feeling of comfort touched his mind and Diarmuid let it, realizing he’d had his defenses up. Instinctive? It had to’ve been. Morgan was oblivious to their internal drama, climbing a bit higher to get a better view. As she did, Diarmuid saw something amusing.

“It looks like we’re not the only ones with this idea,” he murmured as he watched the specs gradually coming closer. Hmm, that looked like large and small ones, an entire group of the prostitutes bringing their littles out for a trip?

“A well deserved rest from their labors,” Archer said with a smile and Diarmuid laughed. “And without a ship today it’s a very good time.”

“That it is.” It was a gorgeous day, with the sun shining so bright and only a few white wisps of clouds in the sky. “Shall we go down to meet them?”

“Mmm, I think so.” It was unlikely the whores would be adventurous enough to come up the walls and perhaps Mordred shouldn’t give their children ideas. Although they were likely to think of it anyway. “Morry!”

Mordred wasn’t keen on abandoning the wall but realizing she could soon have many children to play with, she finally came down. Diarmuid vaguely wondered what became of the children of Ludenwic, particularly the boys. The girls could follow in their mother’s footsteps but what did the boys do?

_Many of them likely go to sea. Others follow in our footsteps, becoming wandering hire-swords, farmhands and tinkers._ Such a hard life. _Someone has to live it. If anything, it’s worse for the girls._

“Too true,” Diarmuid breathed. In Ludenwic the girls had no chance for any of the acceptable female occupations, like weaver. And it was unlikely they would ever marry. Shaking aside the depressing thought, Diarmuid participated in the childish games. He and Archer were the only adult men in this gathering but they were well accepted, thanks to little Mordred.

When everyone was tired and a bit hungry, they went back to Ludenwic. Today was a special day in another way. The land around Ludenwic was not ideal for farming but there were a few people trying it anyway, and three days ago one of the farmers had slaughtered an old sow when he realized she was unwilling – unable? – to breed. The parts that could be preserved were, but plenty of the carcass had been left and it was going to be cooked communally, then shared. By itself it wouldn’t have been much but Archer had decided to be daring and gone out to shoot some birds. Now they had a brace of geese as well, also aging for a few days. Tonight they would cook the lot.

_I really shouldn’t have, it’s always risky. But spring is hard and we can use the meat,_ Archer thought and Diarmuid nodded as they walked, holding Mordred’s hands and swinging her. She squealed in pleasure and Diarmuid noticed that she was almost too big for this. God, how fast she was growing!

The pork was already cooking and savory smells were beginning to fill the camp. Diarmuid watched with a smile as the women fussed over the food, bringing out fresh loaves of bread from the crude ovens that served the camp. One man playfully tried to steal a loaf and a woman laughingly threatened to club him with another loaf.

“How I wish we could stay,” Diarmuid murmured. Ludenwic was rough but it was a community. The sailors could get away with a lot of crap but in Ludenwic itself, there was a rough sort of order, enforced by the more decent of the men. There was also support. If someone was hurt, sick or otherwise fell on hard times, it was more likely they’d be helped than not.

“Or at least come back,” Archer said, his voice tinged with regret. Then he shook his head, his eyes dark. “It can’t be.”

“Pappies?” Mordred was looking at them in concern, her big green eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing sweety. Just thinking of the trip to Camelot,” Diarmuid said easily and that made her eyes light up. Although he still wasn’t entirely sure why Mordred was so happy at the thought of going to Camelot. She’d heard the stories, though, from villagers along the way and then more in Ludenwic. Despite the taxes, everyone seemed to love the King.

_And let’s be honest. We’re not paying our taxes,_ Diarmuid almost choked at Archer’s calm observation.

“Don’t even think that,” he muttered out of one corner of his mouth and Archer chuckled softly. “That’s not just a hanging offense!” That was more like a drawn and quartered offense. And Diarmuid did not want to be hanged until almost-but-not-quite dead, emasculated, disembowelled, beheaded and then cut into four pieces for display purposes.

_They haven’t started doing that yet. They’d likely just burn you, you pagan._ Marvelous. _And anyway the merchants are paying their taxes and taking it out of our wages. So you are paying them in a way._

“Hah!” Diarmuid barked a laugh. _Maybe that’s why the tax collectors never bother to visit._ It wasn’t like there was much blood to get out of the turnip that was Ludenwic. Although maybe they just showed up at certain times and Diarmuid and Archer had missed it. The vagabond existence they lived made it easy to evade taxes, at least.

When it was time to cook the geese, Archer and Diarmuid both helped. Wild garlic and drippings from the pork was spread over the geese before they began roasting them over the fires. Diarmuid smiled as he helped turn the birds, keeping them from burning. Archer was humming softly as he handled his goose and Mordred tried to help. Diarmuid smiled as he watched them, her tiny, pale hands against large, tanned ones, touched with a few faint scars.

The food, when it was done, was easily the best they’d had since arriving in Ludenwic. Meat and bread, pork and beans, with fresh wild ramps. Diarmuid knew them well, from his childhood and in the future they would be a delicacy. It was all well salted. Salt was one thing Ludenwic was plentiful with. Soon they had their food and were eating it on crude wooden trestle tables.

“This is great pappies!” Mordred said, her small face smeared with goose grease. Diarmuid chuckled softly, wiping a bit of it away with his fingers before sucking it off. Mmm, the grease was good, salty. “Can I have more?”

“Mmm… no more meat, but you can have more beans,” Archer said and Diarmuid glanced at the food. The meat had been fully portioned out, there was only bones left, which were being tossed to the stray dogs that haunted the camp. “Or bread, and dip it in the grease.” Mordred’s eyes lit up at that idea.

“Bread!” She dashed off to get some more and Diarmuid cursed, catching her wooden plate before it could end up in the dirt.

“Child…!” Shaking his head, Diarmuid set down the plate. Archer’s chuckle was warm and Diarmuid blinked as a bit more goose suddenly went onto Mordred’s plate.

“She needs it, she’s growing,” Archer said and Diarmuid couldn’t help but smile. He considered it a moment before moving a bit of pork from his plate to Mordred’s. He didn’t need all of it. Then Mordred was running back, a piece of bread in hand. She paused to look at the plate in confusion and Diarmuid smiled, reaching out to ruffle her hair.

“It’s for you. Eat up, Morry,” he said easily and she smiled widely, her green eyes glowing.

“Thank you pappies!” Then she was tucking in again and Diarmuid enjoyed the sight. A healthy child with plenty of growing to do, the meat would help her do it.

That night, full and satisfied, they did nothing but sleep. Even though it was spring and warmer, Mordred still cuddled between them. So much larger she was, even after one winter. Diarmuid vaguely wondered what Mordred’s ultimate dream would be. Would she want to take the throne from Arturia? Or would her mind go another place entirely? And when would they tell her about her tangled heritage anyway?

_We’ll tell her someday. Go to sleep,_ Archer’s thought was very tired and Diarmuid felt a bit guilty as he realized his musings were keeping Archer awake. Closing his eyes, he settled in to sleep.

Tomorrow the ships would be in. There would be plenty of work to do.

* * *

 

“Rat fink bastard,” Diarmuid muttered as he helped Archer lash a shipment into place. “If he yells at me one more time for someone else’s fuckups…”

“You’ll take it calmly like you always do, gently apologize and start making it right,” Archer said and Diarmuid ground his teeth together because he was right, curse him! “Then when we’re travelling you’ll start playing with Vase Killer and only I will know what you’re thinking.”

“HAH!” Oh god wasn’t that the truth. He viciously killed shrubs with his halberd when he was in a foul mood. “MORDRED STOP THAT!” Oh she was MUCH too close to the horses! Mordred suddenly scrambled and Diarmuid nearly had a heart attack as a horse’s foot stomped down where she’d been. “MORRY!”

“Calm down Goodman, I’ll have her,” the merchant’s wife said calmly before going to collect the little girl who was not really so little anymore. Firm chivvying got Mordred into the cart that held the other children. Not too many of them, really, but this merchant had come with his family. Diarmuid reflected on it as he finished getting the load in place.

They’d managed to attach themselves to a reasonably good caravan, this time. Not the best yet not the worst, it was run reasonably competently by a merchant and his family. Unfortunately, it was definitely a family business and nepotism was at work. The merchant’s brother, in particular, specialized in reaming them out for his own mistakes. Well, Diarmuid could take it. Not like it, but he’d take it.

The huge plus side of the caravan was Archer. Often, they tried not to pay him, since he was a tinker and a bowman. Archery was not well-regarded at all, in this day and age, and Archer’s little small bow really was a game weapon. This time, though, they’d accepted Diarmuid’s assurances that Archer was deadly with his short swords and included him in the caravan. So they were both drawing wages. Small wages, but wages.

It took until noon but they finally got everything put together and the caravan was moving out. They were carrying mainly grain but also a smattering of luxury goods, dried herbs and medicinal items. Also some things that Diarmuid was dead sure would fall into the hands of wizards. He didn’t need reagents as Berserker – his connection to the runes was too primal for that – but he could still recognize them.

Diarmuid and Archer walked with the caravan, having no horses. Which was fine, the caravan wasn’t going fast anyway. Diarmuid’s mood had recovered and the vegetation did not suffer. All in all, it was a fairly good start to the trip.

_The only difficulty is going to be finding places to be intimate,_ Archer thought and Diarmuid grimaced. Perhaps they should – _No._

“Damnit Archer stop thinking with your cock,” Diarmuid muttered and Archer turned his head to give him a smile. It was small and secretive and his eyes were warm with lust. It threatened to turn his knees to water. _We have to be very careful._

_Yes._ At best, they would be kicked out of the caravan. At worst, they could be killed out of hand. Diarmuid thought longingly of ancient Greece. The only thing this place had on them was steel, as far as he could tell. _It was called the Dark Ages for a reason._

“And the King is trying to draw us all into the light, which is why the high nobles hate him. They prefer their knights unlettered,” Diarmuid muttered and Archer nodded, his eyes darkening a bit. That was the truth of the matter, in a lot of ways. No one really gave a shit about the peasants but the lower nobility, who made of the bulk of the knights, could be truly dangerous if they started to think for themselves.

_A peasant rebellion, supported and led by that particular class, would be enough to unseat any baron,_ Archer agreed. _And many of them have reason to fear it so they are rebelling both openly and passively against the King’s reforms._ Archer shook his head before fixing him with calm eyes. _But that is not our concern. Getting Mordred to adulthood is._

“Too true.” Gods knew it was a struggle. “Well, she’s looking forward to seeing Camelot,” Diarmuid said, making the best of a bad situation. Archer’s chuckle was soft and warm.

“To be honest, I am too. That is one thing I have never seen,” Archer said and Diarmuid smiled at the thought. “Although I don’t really expect it to be any different.”

“Humans are the same everywhere,” Diarmuid said sadly. He didn’t expect the people of Camelot to take them in with open arms. “Oh well.” That was just how it was, they had to deal with it. Lapsing into companionable silence, they walked alongside the caravan as they kept their senses alert. There was nothing but the sound of birdsong and the laughter and quiet talk of the men, as they travelled.

Hopefully it would be an uneventful trip.

* * *

 

It took them almost two weeks to reach Camelot.

Theoretically, if they’d just gone straight it would have taken half the time. But a caravan was a caravan and it existed to sell things. Camelot was where they’d unload the bulk of the goods but all the little villages they passed through wanted a piece of the pie. Also, there was one decent sized provincial town they needed to visit. It was a detour but well worth it as the merchants sold all the reagents to servants of the local lord. Diarmuid made a mental note that there was a wizard in charge, although probably not a strong one. Merlin wouldn’t tolerate any kind of challenge from an upstart lordling.

Finally they reached Camelot and Diarmuid marvelled at the white stone walls. They were quite beautiful and well-made. The guards on duty were alert and searched the caravan for contraband before finally letting them pass. Archer got several looks of misgiving but no one said anything, to Diarmuid’s relief.

“Camelot pappies! Camelot!” Mordred was looking around with wide eyes and Diarmuid and Archer exchanged an amused glance. “We’re in Camelot! Are we going to see the King?”

“Perhaps,” Archer said, humoring her. It was unlikely unless there was a tournament on. Diarmuid looked around, interested in spite of himself.

Camelot was a beautiful place. Most of the houses were built out of the same white stone as the walls, before being roofed in pretty tiles of various shades. Some buildings had thatching, but it was rare and mostly the stables. The town was surprisingly clean and Diarmuid wondered if there was some kind of sewer system in place. And how did they clean up the horse crap? Perhaps that was a job given to convicts.

Musing on how Camelot worked, exactly, Diarmuid almost missed it when the head merchant was calling them over. But Archer poked him firmly in the arm and Diarmuid awoke from his thoughts with a start. Oh, time to get paid! Although unfortunately it would be the last time. The merchant would be taking on a new load before heading off, but that would likely take a week. Depending on how long he stayed and where he was going, perhaps they’d sign on again. Perhaps they wouldn’t, too.

_If he ends up going North and will take us, we should sign on again. But I think that’s unlikely,_ Archer thought and Diarmuid sighed, nodding. _He is more likely to head for a port so he and his family can go home._

“Right.” That would mean East or South but not North. And East wouldn’t work for them, there wasn’t much there. Then Diarmuid spotted something interesting. “Hey Mordred, would you like a seed cake?” There was a little booth selling them, likely to all the merchants coming in through the gate. Mordred’s face brightened.

“Please pappy!” Diarmuid smiled and went to get her one. With the brisk business the seller was doing there was no bargaining and Diarmuid quickly netted two seed cakes. They were more savory than sweet but that was fine. Diarmuid gave Morry the one and split the second with Archer. Handling their piping hot prizes carefully they went to find an inn.

Even in Camelot, there were seedy areas and that was where they went looking. To Diarmuid’s amusement, even the seedy areas of Camelot were somewhat respectable. Plenty of day workers, laundresses and other respectable but poor sorts. Also thieves and thugs and whores, but not as many as he would have expected. That quickly caused problems finding an inn, as two of the more respectable ones firmly told them to shove off. They settled on a third, shabbier than the first two. As they went to their rooms Mordred was sniffling a little and Diarmuid looked at her in concern.

“What’s wrong child?” Archer asked, his tone gentle. Mordred just shook her head, looking down.

“Nuttin’.” She mumbled and Diarmuid frowned. That was an out and out lie. Archer just sighed softly, ruffling her hair for a moment.

_I believe she is distressed at our treatment._ …Oh. _She’s old enough to understand taffy now._ Ugh.

“Well, why don’t we go for a walk?” Diarmuid said aloud. “We should see Camelot, while we’re here.” That didn’t cheer Mordred up as much as he’d hoped, but she went with them dutifully.

Her enthusiasm rekindled as they walked through the streets of Camelot. Mordred was soon skipping ahead of them, looking around alertly. Diarmuid and Archer didn’t venture too far, just taking her to a lower-middle class neighborhood. There were plenty of little houses, very neat and tidy but packed tightly together. That made Archer frown, as he gazed them over.

“If a house caught fire it could race along these roofs,” Archer said and Diarmuid winced at the thought.

“Surely the tiles are better than thatch?” He knew quite well how flammable thatch roofing could be. Archer pursed his lips before shaking his head.

“A minor improvement at best. If a true fire broke out, the best hope the city would have would be Merlin.” Divine intervention, basically. Firefighting in the dark ages was something of a joke. They used the same methods as the Romans, which involved men with buckets and hooks to pull down houses to create fire breaks. Yet the men often were only volunteers and not well trained, unlike the Romans. The results could be tragic.

To their delight, they stumbled over a park. It was actually more of a community garden but still provided a few very nice trees that Mordred was soon climbing. Diarmuid and Archer just watched, confident that she would be fine. Mordred knew how far she could push it, with trees at least.

Of course, some busybody had to ruin it.

“You there! What are you doing?” Archer and Diarmuid exchanged a glance before Diarmuid turned to address the source of the problem, a burgher in dark grey clothing. His hat was a rather absurd, shapeless thing to Diarmuid’s eyes.

“We are but letting my niece stretch her legs, Goodman,” Diarmuid said smoothly, glancing up at the tree. Mordred was swinging from branch to branch? “Morry, be careful!” he called although Diarmuid was relatively sure she’d be fine. Glancing back, Diarmuid saw the man was looking at them both with deep suspicion, particularly Archer.

“This is not a place for your kind,” he said stiffly and Diarmuid wished he could deck the bastard. Their kind? “Get you back where you came from or I’ll call the constable.” Fuck you good sir!

“There is no need for that. We were leaving soon in any case,” Archer said calmly as Diarmuid drew a breath. “Mordred!” Archer called and Morry looked down, green eyes wide and surprised. “Come, we are leaving!”

“Pappies?” Mordred called but started climbing back down. “What’s wrong? I wanted to play!” And they wished they could let her but…

“We have to go,” Diarmuid said firmly and Mordred gave the stranger a mistrustful look before running up to Archer and taking his hand. Archer smiled at her as Diarmuid took her other hand. Then they left the park, although Mordred looked back a few times. For the first time, Diarmuid thought he saw a real darkness in her beautiful green eyes.

“Why’re people so mean?” Mordred muttered and Diarmuid winced, meeting Archer’s eyes. His honey brown eyes were tinged with a bitter sadness.

“I don’t know child. Don’t worry about it,” Archer said gently and Mordred sniffed a little. Feeling a headache coming on, Diarmuid started leading Mordred back home. As he did, he wondered. Did it make him a horrible person that he was tempted to take off one of his necklaces and see what the runes could make of that officious asshole?

_No, it makes you human. But don’t do it, the last thing we need is Merlin’s attention._ That was too true. _And being an asshole isn’t a death sentence._

“Ought to be,” Diarmuid muttered and Archer chuckled softly. Mordred looked up at them questioningly and Diarmuid smiled at her. “Are you hungry Morry?” Her expression quickly lightened.

“Yes! Can we have pie pappy?” Oh good, something they could probably get her! “Humble pie?” Even better!

“I think we can find that, let’s go look,” Archer said with a smile and Mordred squealed. Diarmuid was very glad they had a daughter who liked pies filled with castoff bits. But then, that was what she knew. It made him wonder how Morgan would have raised her daughter, if she’d gotten the chance. Well, it didn’t matter. He’d never know.

It was better that way.


	5. The Lancelot Edition

In the fair land of Camelot, two worlds were destined to collide.

One was the world of Sir Lancelot, who was escaping the dreadful food at the palace for a night of pork and beans at a decent inn. Why the King didn’t do something about the food, he’d never understand. But Lancelot had never felt it was his place to mention it, as one of the newer knights.

The other world consisted of a man trying to buy a mule and a merchant intending to cheat him in the most blatant manner possible. So blatant, in fact, that it verged on lunacy yet was insanely clever. In modern days the behavior would be called gaslighting. The merchant had targeted this man because of vulnerability. No one would believe a bizarre looking Irishman over a respectable merchant. But he’d chosen his target incorrectly and matters quickly escalated beyond control.

Lancelot was completely unaware of this. He was quietly eating his meal of beans and pork and quite enjoying it, along with a mug of very fine beer. He liked wine very much but a meal like this cried out for beer. Then a young man suddenly burst into the inn.

“SIR KNIGHT!” Lancelot looked up in surprise at the bellow, along with half the inn. “They’ve stolen your horse!” Lancelot blinked several times, his spoon falling out of a suddenly lax hand and ending up in the beans.

“…Who has done what now?” Lancelot asked after a moment, mind cushioned with utter disbelief. His horse was combat trained and a stallion as well. He wouldn’t let anyone ride him. But the man was adamant.

“Your horse is gone Sir Knight! The murderers took it!” Murderers? Suddenly concerned, Lancelot pushed himself up and went out the door. Sure enough, his horse was missing. One thing that caught his eye was the blood on the ground. “They killed Goodman Locksley, the mule seller!”

“I see.” Lancelot didn’t think he had the whole story but he had enough. Glancing down the horses tethered at the inn, he selected the best of them. “I will take this one for now but I shall return it. Please let the owner know,” Lancelot instructed the man before mounting the horse, a bay mare. She wouldn’t be able to match his own horse for speed but that was fine. These strangers would have to stop sooner or later, supposing they’d even gotten past the gate.

“Good luck Sir Knight!” The man urged, and several other voices joined him. Lancelot frowned as he rode in pursuit. What had prompted this attack? It was the middle of the day, it was unlikely to be a robbery.

The gate guards hadn’t been able to stop the miscreants and the gate itself was charred, to Lancelot’s shock.

“He’s a sorcerer sir! An evil sorcerer! He raised his hand and a fireball flew at us! It was terrifying! And the man with him threw his knives! There was a little girl too, they must have been kidnapping her!” Kidnapping too? Lancelot wasn’t sure what to believe anymore, this was getting ridiculous. The charring on the beams was real, though, and so were the slash marks. From those knives? Lancelot also noticed an arrow stuck deep in the wood, it looked nearly impossible to get out. “Shall we send for help Sir Knight?”

“No, I think I should be fine. But send word to the palace in case I am wrong,” Lancelot said thoughtfully. Perhaps he was being stupid, but he had no real feeling of danger. And he intended to talk before attacking. This was all very interesting and there was surely a story behind it.

Lancelot was anticipating having to follow the miscreants for quite a distance. His horse was marvelous, after all, and if these thieves could ride him they could go far. But to his surprise, he found his horse quite quickly.

“…” Lancelot swung down from his borrowed horse, gently patting her on the shoulder as he went to his own stallion. The horse was by the side of the road, eating some grass. He flinched as Lancelot came close. “Easy my friend, easy…” Lancelot looked the horse over in puzzlement and then his eyes widened as he saw the saddle. The dark leather had concealed it from a distance but up close… He gently touched the leather and drew his hand back, seeing the wet blood on his fingers. Examining the horse, he made an unsettling discovery. “You’re almost covered in it,” Lancelot muttered. All this blood was fresh, too. “Ah.” Whoever had been riding the horse hadn’t been able to continue. Losing consciousness? Quite likely. The blood trail led into the bushes.

Leaving the horses for now – Lancelot didn’t like to do that but he could hardly take them into the brush – he began following the tracks, moving as quietly as he could. Which was very quietly at the moment since he was not in full armor, merely a bit of leather, intended to defeat a footpad’s knife. Nothing more was needed for a visit to the tavern. The blood trail abruptly ended at once spot and Lancelot could see a fair amount of disturbed earth. Had they paused to bandage the wound? He continued to follow the tracks, seeing it was two adults and one child. Well, that would be about the most even his horse could carry.

Lancelot wasn’t thinking of archery as he slid through the brush and that was nearly fatal. He heard the evil buzz of an arrow and felt the brush of air against his cheek just before he hit the dirt. Grimacing, he rolled aside as more arrows hit the ground where he’d been. Carefully easing himself through the brush, he tried to see where the men were hiding. Ah, that little copse over there, and he could hear a child crying and saying something as a man’s voice attempted to shush her?

When he was close enough Lancelot attacked in a sudden rush. He saw a bronzed face, too dark for just the sun, and flashing eyes the color of dark honey. The man tried to get off one more arrow but it was too close and Lancelot slapped the bow aside. He felt the wood break and the man was drawing two short swords. Strange weapons, they were like nothing Lancelot had ever seen before.

The man himself was an incredibly able fighter and it wasn’t his skill that failed him, but his weapons. Lancelot’s sword was enchanted and the bronze man’s were not. After several brutal clashes, the blades suddenly shattered. Lancelot kicked the man’s feet out from under him but he was far from done. The bronze man rolled instantly to his feet and Lancelot could recognize the posture of an able hand to hand fighter. This man was too dangerous to take alive. Feeling a bit of regret he moved in for the kill –

“PAPPY!” OH GOD! Lancelot barely managed to abort his swing as a blonde little girl darted between them. She was six, eight? Lancelot couldn’t get a read on her age. “PAPPY NO!” Pappy? They could not possibly be related.

“Morry, get out of here!” The bronze man shouted as he caught the girl in his arms. “Go to Daud, go!”

“He’s not breathing pappy!” The little girl wailed before bursting into tears. Lancelot saw the bronze man hesitate and met frustrated, anguished eyes before he abruptly cursed and ran towards the copse of trees. Lancelot let him go, watching as the little girl ran after him, still crying.

Following them at a safe distance, Lancelot saw the bronze man fall to his knees beside a limp form. Another man, this one even more striking than the bronze man. A perfectly formed face, badly marred yet still handsome enough to make most women swoon. Jet black hair, adorably tousled with a single long bang. The costume he wore was leather armor accented with black chains, with holes that seemed meant to display more of his scars. His body was that of a warrior, all lean muscle and powerful lines. A vicious looking polearm was discarded nearby.

Right now, though, the man’s face was peaceful but the skin was waxen and pallid. There was a heavy bandage on his side, soaked through with blood. The bronze man covered those lips with his own and began forcing air into his chest. The little girl clung to the fallen man, begging her pappy to be alright. Lancelot felt a tightness in his chest as he watched the scene. The girl couldn’t be related to the bronze man, but this might truly be her father. Lancelot moved closer and eyes flicked towards him although the bronze man did not stop for a moment.

“Please, let me help. I have some skill with healing.” In between breaths, the bronze man nodded a quick assent. Lancelot knelt beside the man and held his hands over the wound. He knew a bit of magic, taught to him by the Lady of the Lake.

As he did, he immediately knew something was wrong. There was another power at work, attempting to close the wound and it was much stronger than his weak spells. But something was interfering, a subtle miasma that was tainting the wound and worse, trying to flow through the blood to the rest of the man’s body. The power at work was preventing that motion, yet couldn’t purge the taint and close the wound.

Lancelot moved on instinct, barely aware of what he was doing. Reaching up, he grasped the black chains around the man’s throat and his fingers found one in particular, flicking it off. As he did, he noticed another had already been removed, the chain lying on the ground beside the man’s head. He dropped the second chain with the first and felt a brilliantly light power run through the man’s body. He moaned softly, his eyelids flickering and to Lancelot that was a relief. It meant he was breathing. Putting his hands over the wound again he felt that light power purge the taint and the second power, a healing energy, immediately began sealing the wound. Would it be enough?

It was enough, although just barely. The man stayed unconscious and his pallor remained unchanged, signifying the amount of blood lost. But he was breathing, albeit shallowly. Lancelot took his wrist and checked his pulse, finding that it was weak.

“Is he going to be alright pappy? Is pappy Daud going to be alright?” Lancelot was finally able to give more attention to the child and saw that she was a pixie of a girl. Her hair was a beautiful shade of gold and she had lovely green eyes. They were wet with tears and she was rubbing them off her face.

“I believe he will live,” the bronze man’s voice was uneven, though, and Lancelot met his eyes. They were dark with suspicion and something else. Fear? Yes, a carefully measured and chained fear. It reminded Lancelot of a warrior going into battle. “What do you want of us?”

“Well, I mostly just wanted my horse back. I assume you stole it out of desperation,” Lancelot said and saw the man’s lips tighten before he gave a small nod. “May I ask what happened?” The man hesitated a moment, something flickering through his eyes. But then the little girl took it out of his hands.

“Pappy Daud tried to buy a mule! He gave the man the money but then he said he didn’t! I saw him but no one listened!” More tears were going down the little girl’s face and the bronze man gently cuddled her. “He kept saying pappy hadn’t paid and pappy kept saying he had! They were yelling and everyone was mad and then someone else started yelling at pappy and the man with the mule stabbed him!” The little girl burst into sobs and the bronze man gently cradled her to his chest. Their eyes met before he spoke.

“That was when I shot him in the throat. I do not regret my action,” he said firmly and Lancelot nodded. “But now we have no money, no mule and there will soon be a price on our heads. Please, leave us be. We will manage as best we can,” he said and Lancelot swallowed at the calm acceptance in his voice.

“I… please, what is your name?” Lancelot asked.

“Archer,” he responded and Lancelot wondered if that was his real name, or if the bronze man had just taken it from his skill with the bow. Well, not his business.

“Archer, you cannot go,” he said as persuasively as he could. “This man is not fit to be moved. That poison has sapped his strength.” Lips tightened as Archer glanced at his companion. His expression was impassive but Lancelot fancied he could see a flash of anguish in his eyes. “Return to Camelot and there will be justice for you.” The man suddenly barked a laugh.

“Justice? For me?” Archer’s smile was bitter as an unripe plum and his voice was colder than the winter snows. “There is no justice for our kind.” Lancelot had seen this before, many times. Men who were caught, either through their own actions or fate, on the edges of society. They trusted no authority and never sought help, even when they might have been granted it. It was painful to see it in Camelot though. Then the little girl was tugging on the man’s shirt.

“It’s Camelot pappy! Camelot! The King can make things right!” she cried and Lancelot saw a deep sadness cross the bronze man’s face.

“Oh Morry, it doesn’t work that way…” he murmured as he gently held the child. Lancelot had to disagree.

“I can testify to the poison in this man’s wound and you are missing an important point, Goodman. No merchant who carries a poisoned blade on his person can be upstanding,” Lancelot said firmly and Archer looked at him dubiously. “I am sure you are not the first person he has done this to. There will be an investigation, I swear it,” Lancelot said, hoping that would reassure him. Archer no doubt thought they’d be executed after a short, unfair trial. Alas, in much of the country he might be right, but Lancelot would not allow it.

“Who are you?” Archer asked and Lancelot blinked, realizing he’d forgotten to introduce himself.

“I am Sir Lancelot,” he said and saw shock on the other man’s face, followed by several conflicting feelings that quickly settled into distrust. Well, he hadn’t expected much else at this point. “You stole my horse, which is the only reason I became involved,” he said and Archer’s lips quirked in wry amusement. He glanced down at the girl – Morry? – who looked up at him with pleading eyes. Finally, Archer heaved a small sigh.

“I hate it, but even if you leave us there will be more pursuers and you are right. Daud can’t take much moving,” the man said in a low tone and Lancelot nodded. “How will we take him back?”

“We can carry him out between us. Then I’ll hold him in front of me, on my horse.” Not ideal but it shouldn’t aggravate his wounds too much. Archer sighed before reaching out and picking up the two necklaces from the ground. He gazed at them thoughtfully for a moment before replacing one of them on the man’s neck. “Those are magical bindings,” Lancelot said, more a question than a statement. Honey brown eyes flickered up to him before Archer nodded.

“He has a family curse. He does not use the magic, it uses him. These bindings keep it mostly in check,” he said quietly and Lancelot blinked. He might have asked more questions, but then the little girl was talking.

“Pappy Daud talks in voices sometimes. Some of them are nice like the fire man but some of them are mean. The star woman is really mean! She called me a bug!” Lancelot could help but chuckle as they began getting the man in place. “And she called pappy Archer a – “

“Mordred, you do not say that word in public,” Archer said firmly and Lancelot noted the name. Mordred. Morry was a nickname it seemed. An odd name but these were odd people. “And she called you a cute little bug, remember?” That almost sounded like an endearment –

“She called me a cute little MAGGOT!” Oh. “She’s mean! I don’t want to talk to her ever!”

“Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you so that’s fine,” Archer said and there was a hint of amusement in his voice. Then they were both concentrating on carrying Daud without jostling him too much. It was difficult in the heavy trees. “Forgive me, but where will you be taking us?”

“The palace,” Lancelot said and saw Archer’s back stiffen. He was in front while Lancelot was behind, holding Daud’s shoulders. “Merlin is travelling, searching for any trace of Morgan le Faye,” Lancelot said, hoping that might ease his worry. Merlin was frightening to many people. “But the King will welcome you.” Arthur would probably be interested in this little case of justice. It was a capital crime and that could easily call for the King’s attention, although it didn’t always warrant it.

“I see.” Archer’s voice was cool and contained and Lancelot didn’t think he was much reassured, although a bit of his stiffness eased. Mordred, on the other hand, was overjoyed.

“We’ll see the King pappy! I want to see the King!” Morry said and Archer’s soft chuckle was a pleasant sound, albeit tinged with sadness.

“It seems that you will,” he said and Lancelot didn’t question the conflicted feelings he could detect. Of course a man like this wouldn’t want to bring attention to himself. The child couldn’t really understand that.

When they reached the road both horses were still there. Lancelot paused a moment to wipe off some of the drying blood from his saddle before mounting the horse. Then Archer helped hoist his friend into place, which made him moan softly in pain. Still, that was a positive sign, the man was not in a coma. Archer took the second horse, little Mordred riding in front of him. Lancelot glanced at them, a touch puzzled. He still couldn’t get a handle on the child’s age although he didn’t think she could be older than eight.

They rode back to the gates and the guards were astonished to see them.

“Sir Knight? What is happening?” The guards all looked at Archer warily, their hands close to their weapons. The sorcerer also got a few looks but they quickly dismissed him on realizing he was unconscious. Lancelot answered calmly.

“They are surrendering themselves for the King’s justice. Have no fear,” he said and the guards were all quite relieved that the situation was under control. They were allowed to pass and Lancelot began taking them to the palace, trying to make the ride as smooth as possible. This was a lot of jostling for a very injured man.

Fortunately, they did not have to go back the way they’d come. The path to the palace was quite a different route so while they got many strange looks, no one shouted at them or otherwise made a scene. When they reached the palace Lancelot immediately summoned servants to take care of them, including a stretcher for the injured man. Soon they were attracting attention and unfortunately, it was very annoying.

“What in hell is this?” Sir Kay. Lancelot sighed internally before relating the situation. He had to, really, Sir Kay functioned as the Royal Chamberlain. That meant he managed the privy purse and he did it quite well but – “Why are you bothering? Just take them to the magistrate.”

“I promised them the King’s justice,” Lancelot said firmly and from the look on Sir Kay’s face, he thought this was far too small a matter to trouble Arthur with. And while he was right, Lancelot was not going to lie and say Archer’s feelings about the law were unwarranted. Even in Camelot, such men as this might get short shrift with the courts. “And a jail cell is no place for a man on the brink of death. He’ll mend better in a proper bed with proper food.”

“The jail likely has better food,” Kay said under his breath and Lancelot pretended not to hear. He agreed but they shouldn’t be talking about that sort of thing. “Oh, very well. I suppose they won’t be too much of a drain. But get that horse back, we don’t need it.”

“I was just about to,” Lancelot retorted, feeling a bit ruffled as he turned to the mare. She needed to get back to her owner, whoever that might be and Lancelot planned to give the man a bit of money for the use of his horse. Heading back into town, he gently patted the mare on the shoulder. She really was a good horse. As he rode, Lancelot began planning how to investigate the the mule seller’s death. He knew a few reliable constables, able in such matters. He’d personally contact them and task them to find the truth.

Very soon, they would get to the bottom of this mess.


	6. Problems in the Kitchen

"Sir Lancelot, what is going on?" King Arthur sounded more interested than upset, to Lancelot's relief. Guinevere was there as well and he met her eyes for just a brief moment before looking away. He was becoming too close to the Queen, he knew that, but it was difficult to resist. "Everyone is gossiping about some men you dragged in for justice?"

"Ah, yes," Lancelot said before launching into the story. He started it with the theft of his horse, described the battle with Archer and the intervention of his 'daughter', and saving Daud's life. Then he explained what had sparked the whole thing, the disagreement over a mule. King Arthur was shocked, his eyes wide at the information. Lancelot hastened to reassure him. "That is only Archer's story, your majesty. The constables have yet to confirm it." Although Lancelot had gotten a short message and it was starting to look better for Archer and Daud. Locksley had been known to the authorities already for things like selling defective baggage and filing his mule's teeth. A few accusations of doctoring mules with arsenic, as well, although that had never been proven.

"What have the constables said about this mule seller? A man who carries a poisoned blade must be known to them," Guinevere said and Lancelot nodded respectfully.

"Indeed, he was known, but only for minor things. Of course, that only might mean he was never caught at something more serious," Lancelot said before shrugging. "They are still investigating and interviewing witnesses. There can be no doubt the mule seller was shot in the throat, but Archer does not deny it." There was no mystery about the basic facts.

"Well, when they are done the investigation I will hear the matter myself," Arthur said decisively, to Lancelot's relief. That would ensure the matter was handled fairly, Arthur was indifferent to color and creed. "They should also take supper with us tonight. I would like to meet them."

"Daud is still recovering from his wound but I am sure Archer and Mordred would be honored," Lancelot said, hoping he was telling the truth. Archer would probably be very nervous, surrounded by knights and noblemen. Mordred, though, would likely enjoy it.

Alas, Lancelot had forgotten something about children, if he'd ever known. That was the fact that they were devastatingly honest.

"Ewwww!" Several of the knights turned to look as Mordred poked at her food. "This food is BAD!"

"Mordred. It's food, eat it," Archer said warningly but his 'daughter' was having none of it.

"But it's BAD pappy!" Some of the knights were snickering and Lancelot had to manfully hide back a chuckle. The way Arthur was looking confused made it funnier as well. "It's really bad! You can cook better! Mary could cook way better! The King shouldn't be eating food that's BAD!"

"Who is Mary?" Lancelot asked, trying to distract the child from something that was embarrassing Archer. Although the child was only saying what they were all thinking.

"Uh, she was a good woman we – " That was as far as Archer got before more devastating honesty ensued.

"Mary was a pros-ti-tute," Mordred said the word carefully, clearly having no idea what it meant. Archer stared at his daughter in horror as several knights burst into laughter and the King choked. "Pappy Daud said that means she makes the sailors' happy," she told them in case they didn't know. Lancelot tried desperately to hold back his laughter, making a strange, choked off wheeze. "She made a fish head stew and it was really good! You should get her to come cook for you!" And that was the end. Everyone burst into laughter as Archer put a hand over his face. Knights all over the room turned to look at them, curious about what was so funny.

"Please excuse me while I die of mortification," Archer said, which only made the laughter a bit worse. Then Sir Gawain happened to come into the room.

"Whatever is so funny?" he asked, interested. It was Arthur who responded.

"Apparently, the food here is not up to standard," he said, a bit ruffled. Gawain blinked in mild confusion.

"Oh really? I think it's excellent." Yes, he did, the crazy man. Mordred gave him a look like he was insane before crossing her arms.

"Then you've got no tastebuds!" HAHAHA! Gawain was taken aback and more laughter ensued. "But I've got tastebuds and I know it's bad! Make them something better pappy! Make them your bean stew, it was the BEST! The one with the birdies and the sausage!" That almost sounded like –

"Cassoulet," Archer supplied and Lancelot's eyes widened. Really?!

"You know how to make cassoulet?" He leaned over the table, suddenly intent. He hadn't had a cassoulet since he'd left France! "How would you prepare it?" Lancelot asked and Archer blinked at him, surprised.

"Well… how I would actually prepare it or how it should ideally be made?" Archer asked before shrugging. "I've never had duck," he said and Lancelot felt excited. He knew about the duck! "I've rarely had chicken… the way I generally make it is to chop up carrots, celery and onion for the mirepoix." He knew the word! "Then brown them in butter before adding the diced salt pork. The pork is absolutely vital to the recipe, it adds most of the flavor." So true! "I would also add a whole head of garlic, chopped up roughly. When browned I would remove them all into a bowl, before adding the duck or chicken or… miscellaneous songbird to the pot for browning. After browned, I would remove that, and put in the garlic sausage, browning that as well." This was sounding really promising! "That done, I would add everything back, along with the beans – they must be soaked overnight – and cover it all in stock for simmering. Oh, I would also add dried bay leaves for flavor. And the bird goes on top to keep the skin crispy."

"Could you make that for us tomorrow, perhaps?" Lancelot asked hopefully. "I haven't had cassoulet since I left France." And this sounded very close to the authentic article. Not that cassoulet was really difficult, it was only a version of beans and pork. Archer hesitated, a bit of mild consternation on his face.

"I… would not intrude…"

"Intrude, _please,_ " Sir Belvidere grumbled, not really under his breath. Guinevere suddenly spoke, a smile on her face.

"Please husband, a French dish would be a marvelous treat!" she said appealingly and Lancelot hoped she meant to talk some sense into the King. Guinevere often ate outside the palace, like most of them. Arthur hesitated before capitulating.

"If you could make us this dish, Goodman, we would be grateful. Sir Kay, please supply him with everything he needs," the King said and Sir Kay assented although not gracefully. Lancelot had a few suspicions as to why, although he'd been keeping that to himself.

That matter settled, Archer began trying to cajole Mordred into eating her terrible food. He finally had to become firm, telling her she wouldn't get a thing later and if she failed to eat she could just go hungry. Lancelot thought if Mordred had been a bit younger, she might have taken that option. As it was she began eating albeit grudgingly.

"Forgive me, Archer, but we can't help but be curious about you. What is your history? And your lovely daughter?" The Queen asked sweetly and Lancelot paid attention. He was curious too, although he doubted Archer's history was anything nice. "Are you a Moor?" Archer hesitated a moment before shaking his head.

"No. If I am anything, I am Irish," he said and Lancelot stared blankly. Bronzed skin and dead white hair were hardly Irish – unless he was part fairy? "My mother was an Irish prostitute, living in a small village similar to Ludenwic. My father was a Moorish sailor." …Oh. Yes, that could explain it. Archer gave them a thin smile. "Daud was the son of the local lord, but exiled when they realized he carried the family curse. I came across him when he was struggling with his madness and helped him find a rune wielder. Since then, we have travelled together."

"Then they found me!" Mordred said and Lancelot blinked at the choice of words. Found? "My mamma died of the plague."

"Everyone in the village had died of the plague," Archer corrected the child slightly. Then he looked at the Queen. "It was the Ghost Plague. That part of the Kingdom was particularly hard hit." Ah, yes. Lancelot grimaced at the reminder.

"The West, around Markenshire?" he asked and Archer nodded. "That was the worst of it." Whole villages depopulated. Fortunately the plague had seemed to wan as it spread to the rest of Britain. Still, it was sad when losing almost a quarter of the knights was seen as the best possible outcome. They could all remember the doleful bells, the men – all of whom had already been sick – gathering the bodies for burial or burning. Lancelot forced away the image, shaking his head.

"You did not take her to an orphanage?" Sir Kay said and Archer's lips tightened, a touch of temper in his eyes. Fortunately, he didn't have to respond, the King did it for him.

"Kay! The orphanages were overwhelmed in the plague. They're still full to capacity, it's only been three years!" Oh god that was too true. "Do you remember how hard it was to get supplies out to that area? How much grain we had to import? She was much better off with them." Lancelot didn't even want to think how many orphans had starved in the aftermath of the plague. They'd done their best, they really had, but order had almost collapsed in some areas.

"Pappy Archer and pappy Daud are the best pappies in the world," Mordred said firmly and her father chuckled softly, gently ruffling her hair. Conversation turned to other things and before too long, Archer excused himself to go check on Daud. Mordred went with him, of course, asking if she could see more of the castle after they checked on her pappy. Lancelot didn't hear Archer's response, getting another tankard of ale, but he hoped they would.

The food might not impress Mordred but the castle surely would.

* * *

 

When Diarmuid woke up, he felt bloody awful.

There was an aching pain in his side, burning with every shallow breath. He had a pounding headache and he felt too hot. Barely aware of it, Diarmuid moaned.

"Diarmuid." The warm, familiar voice was very reassuring. So was the gentle hand on his forehead, so much cooler than his overheated skin. "Easy. You're feverish." A gentle cloth was being pressed to his forehead then, wet and cold. Diarmuid forced his eyes open. There was a swirl of colors that quickly resolved into bronze skin, honey brown eyes and white hair.

"Archer…" Diarmuid croaked his name and a cup of water was brought to his lips. He drank thirstly, enjoying the cold spring water. "Thank you." When he'd passed out, Diarmuid had honestly thought he'd never wake again. He'd only realized there was poison in the wound far too late. He'd lost consciousness as he tried to remove the binding on the star runes. They were best at purging taints. Glancing around, Diarmuid was surprised to see he was in a room of grey stone, comfortably furnished with an actual bed. A featherbed, too, and extremely comfortable. "Where…?" Where in hell could this be?

"The castle." Wait, WHAT? "Merlin isn't here, he's searching for Morgan la Faye." …Well that was a futile quest. A hand gently caressed his brow and Diarmuid met honey brown eyes before Emiya switched to non-verbal communication. _You stole Sir Lancelot's horse._ Damnit! He should have known that horse was too fine! _He followed us and nearly killed me, then helped save your life._ That sounded schizophrenic. Archer's lips quirked in amusement. _It made sense at the time._ He'd take Emiya's word for that. _He insisted we come back for the King's justice and unfortunately, his reasons made sense. You were almost dead, Mordred and I could never have evaded pursuers like that._ Diarmuid closed his eyes, feeling shame snarl through him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, castigating himself. He should have been calmer, more patient. A warm hand encircled his wrist, giving him a gentle squeeze and Diarmuid opened his eyes as he felt warm breath against his ear.

"Stop it," Archer's breath tickled his ear, his white hair looking like a cloud. Diarmuid shivered a little at the sensation. "You kept your temper longer than I could have. There is nothing to be sorry for." Then Archer kissed his cheek and Diarmuid enjoyed the feel of those warm lips. But…

"I still shouldn't have let myself be stabbed like a fool. If that other man hadn't distracted me…" Had that been deliberate? Diarmuid had to wonder. Archer was cupping his cheek then, their eyes meeting.

"Shh. Have you forgotten that you're Berserker? You're doing incredibly well," Archer murmured before kissing him. It was slow, warm and intimate and Diarmuid surrendered himself to the feeling. Ah, Archer was right. How many Berserkers could argue with someone without just lopping a head off? Likely only one and it was him.

"Pappies!" Archer pulled away, glancing over his shoulder before suddenly tensing. It was a subtle movement but Diarmuid could easily catch it and he lifted his head as Morry skipped into the room, a man behind her. He was a very handsome man with long chestnut hair and he was gazing at them with a mildly surprised air.

_I think he saw us,_ Archer thought and Diarmuid blinked. If so, this was an impressively mild reaction. _He is French._ Hey, enough with the stereotypes! Then Mordred was hugging him and Diarmuid oophed.

"Watch it Morry, I'm battered enough already," he said cheerfully and she giggled, burying her little face against his neck.

"I'm so glad you're awake. You scared us so much pappy. Never do that again!" He'd try not to. "Are you feeling okay?" Mordred drew back, concern on her face and Diarmuid hastened to reassure her.

"I'm feeling well enough. I have a bit of a fever but it's not much," he said before glancing at Archer. He was a bit tight lipped, some tension around his eyes. Ah, he wasn't even close to fully healed then. "I'll probably need to stay here for a while." His small nod confirmed Diarmuid's suspicions.

_I worry about Merlin. We must be long gone before he arrives._ Yes, he'd recognize Mordred for a homunculus instantly. He might not be able to detect the fact they were Counter-Guardians – being sealed this way was nearly fool-proof – but Diarmuid's out of control rune magic would not amuse him. _He would likely only seal you more thoroughly. Mordred is the true concern._

_That would be a concern, too. The runes utterly despise him,_ Diarmuid thought back, knowing it was the truth. When he heard their voices in his mind they always referred to Merlin crudely. It was a rivalry between British and Irish magic and while the runes symbolized Ireland, Merlin symbolized Britain. _They'd never allow him to seal them._ He'd be dealing with a full runic rebellion. Ghastly.

"The cooks want you to know the chicken and duck have arrived," Lancelot said and Emiya nodded. Diarmuid blinked. Chicken? Archer saw his confusion and gave him a small smile.

"I'm making everyone here a cassoulet." Say what now?

"The food here is really bad. Pappy Archer is going to make them some good food," Mordred said and Diarmuid frowned. Making friends here didn't really matter, but being outcasts among the servants might affect their stay. Archer's smile widened.

_That's nothing to be concerned about._ Oh? _I've become a dumping ground for all the cook's grievances. They want me to take their concerns to the King._ …HAH! _Would you believe there is no head chef here at all?_ What, really? Diarmuid didn't know much but he knew that was a guaranteed failure. Every noble had a head chef, usually a crusty old bastard who ran the kitchen like an army.

"I'm so looking forward to it. It's been years since I've had a proper cassoulet and we can smell it already. Would you like me to check his wound?" Lancelot asked and Archer consented.

"If you could, I am afraid I should be going. The chicken won't cook itself," Archer said with a small smile before glancing at him. Diarmuid nodded.

"Make sure to bring me a bowl later!" he said with a smile and Archer's smile widened as Mordred giggled.

"I'll make sure you get some pappy," she promised before taking his hand, giving him a squeeze. As she held his hand, Lancelot pulled down the blankets and gently began pulling away the bandage, using a bit of water to wet the dried blood. Diarmuid flinched a few times but accepted the pain, looking down thoughtfully at the wound. It was ugly, stitched up now but puffy and inflamed.

"Hmm… some infection, likely due to the poison, but not too bad," Lancelot murmured before hovering a hand over the wound. Diarmuid blinked as he felt a touch of healing power. "Child, could you remove that necklace he wears?" Ah, he knew?

"Yes Sir Knight!" Mordred said smartly before reaching for the necklaces. She easily found the right one and took it off. It was hard for Diarmuid to do that, a lot of work pulling them out and examining the runes to find the right one. As the necklace fell away, a voice that wasn't his own left his lips.

" _Thank you child."_ Lancelot looked up from the wound, startled, at the sound of a mature woman's voice. _"And thank you, Sir Knight, for saving our vessel's life. This fool did not listen when we tried to tell him the wound was poisoned."_

"Hey!" That was unfair! "I was a bit busy and you could have spoken louder," Diarmuid growled back and then his own mouth laughed. It was a sweet contralto, really quite pretty.

" _The Shadows do not speak loudly but when they do, you should listen."_ Shadow? They weren't the ones who handles such things – oh, but Stars did and the stars didn't care if he lived or died. And Earth but she'd likely been busy trying to save his life. _"Indeed, I was. But let me take a look."_ There was silence then and Diarmuid waited patiently. _"Some infection, as he said, but your body has it well under control. There is no need for further healing at this time, your body is mending as quickly as a mortal can."_ Ah yes, that was the point wasn't it. Humans could only heal so quickly. If he hadn't been sealed this way the runes could have put him together in a minute or two.

"Good enough. Morry?" She replaced the necklace around his throat and Diarmuid sighed as he felt the Earth runes go quiescent. Lancelot was giving him a curious look though.

"Your friend has said that's a curse?" he asked and Diarmuid gave him a small smile.

"Yes, it runs in my family line. It's said we trace our lineage back to Cu Chulainn," Diarmuid said, knowing Cu would find that amusing. "But he used the runes and now, the runes use us. It's a very dangerous curse." He reached up to stir the necklaces, making them tinkle. "Without these I am completely unsafe." That was certainly the truth, although Berserker wasn't supposed to be safe.

"I see. You know, if you waited for Merlin to return he might be able to do something," Lancelot said and Diarmuid winced before shaking his head.

"No. His magic is of Britain and the runes are of Ireland. They'd have a fit if he tried and likely shatter the bindings," Diarmuid said firmly. Which was all true, thankfully, although Mordred was the real concern.

"I wish we could stay," Mordred said sadly and Diarmuid sighed, reaching out to gently take her hand. "Most of the people here are really nice and pappy Archer is going to fix the food. Couldn't we stay pappy? You could both make food for them!" It was a lovely thought but it just couldn't be.

"We can't Morry. The runes and Merlin wouldn't get along," Diarmuid said gently, wondering when they'd tell Mordred about her history. Likely in another year. And Mordred did know she was growing too fast. They'd never discussed it but Diarmuid had noticed she never told anyone her age. It was fortuitous for them but hinted that Mordred knew something wasn't right.

"Would Merlin get along with me?" Mordred asked very quietly, her green eyes terribly sad. The question rattled Diarmuid and he swallowed heavily. Lancelot, though, didn't understand.

"Of course he would! He loves children." That might be true but Merlin was also noted for his ruthlessness. One child against the whole of Britain? Diarmuid knew which way he'd fall. "But we should let your father rest," Lancelot said firmly and Diarmuid closed his eyes as they left. For a long time, though, sleep didn't come. Mordred knew she wasn't right. Perhaps they needed to have a talk with her sooner rather than later.

It hurt, but concealing the truth much longer could hurt more.

* * *

 

Supper that night was glorious.

Lancelot almost cried at the taste of home. This was cassoulet. Full of beautiful pork flavor, with chunks of garlic sausage and so much garlic sprinkled all through it, it was marvelous beyond words. The chicken and duck had been slow cooked until it was falling off the bones yet the skin was still crispy. It was all served with beer, a richer, darker beer than usual. It suited the food perfectly.

Curious to see what the supper would be like, all the knights had attended. Fortunately it seemed Archer had anticipated that. The servants brought pot after pot of the savory stew and loafs of brown bread to sop up the juices.

"My word. This is incredible!" King Arthur seemed at a bit of a loss as he tried his food. "I… did not know food could be this good." Lancelot seriously wondered about his upbringing. "Goodman Archer, I salute your skill!" There were murmurs of agreement all around the table. Most of them were too engaged in the food to say much. Archer hesitated a moment, though, before speaking humbly.

"This is not a difficult dish, your Majesty. It requires but time, patience and materials," Archer said before hesitating again. "May I speak frankly, Your Majesty?" King Arthur nodded, looking at him curiously. "The men working in your kitchens do not like the food they are serving to you. In fact, they are ashamed of their efforts." They should be! "But they can do no better. They are all retired constables, army men who have suffered disabling injuries. Most of them have depended on their women to cook all their lives."

"That would not be a difficulty if there was someone to teach them, but there is not. Your kitchen is lacking a head chef," Archer said gently and Lancelot blinked. They didn't have a head chef? Glancing around he saw the other knights were also surprised. "There is no organization, no chain of command. Hiring an experienced head chef would solve many of your issues."

"What is the other problem?" King Arthur said, very interested. Archer hesitated and Lancelot could tell he really didn't want to speak. "Please, tell me frankly." Arthur could see his reluctance too of course. Archer drew a breath before squaring his shoulders.

"The other problem is the provisioning of the kitchen. I do not know if the money is being wasted or it is insufficient, but the cooks do not have the supplies they need," Archer said and Lancelot carefully glanced towards Kay. He was looking unhappy, his lips very tight. Miserly bastard. "They are particularly lacking in meat. They all feel, and I agree, that the King's kitchen should be well supplied in pork. Hams, sausages and roasts should be abundant. Instead the meat they are given is mostly what your knights have caught in the hunt. And while venison and boar are remarkable meats in the hands of an experienced chef, they will turn out very poorly when cooked by the unskilled." Archer ran a hand through his hair before continuing. "They also lack any of the usual spices. I only mention that because they are expensive and any head chef will want at least a bit in his kitchen."

"How are we to afford all this?" Sir Kay asked and Archer seemed to grope for an answer. Fortunately, Sir Belvidere had his back.

"You're just taking the cost out of our wages right now. Every time we eat on the town is out of our pocket!" Sir Belvidere gave Sir Kay the evil eye and the murmurs of agreement made him flush. "Find some other place to save money," he growled and Sir Kay looked ready to retort. But then Arthur settled things.

"Enough," his voice was cold but then warmed. "Sir Kay, we can go over the accounts tomorrow and see what can be done. For now, we should all enjoy the feast." They were all willing to do that and Archer looked relieved to have gotten out his words with his hide intact. Then Mordred skipped up to the table to join them.

"I took pappy Daud his food, he really likes it! I stayed with him for a while but now I'm here," she said before hopping onto her chair. It had been kept empty for her. "I'm really hungry pappy!"

"Then tuck in, there's plenty of food," Archer said before pushing a bowl to her. She began to tuck in and Lancelot smiled as he watched. Wistfully, he wished they could stay. Still, perhaps it wouldn't be wise. Daud's runic magic really would rub Merlin the wrong way. And they still needed to have the court case taken care of. The constables would be done their investigation soon. Lancelot was sure he knew how that would go, but he could be mistaken. Setting all those concerns aside, he took a deep drink of ale, enjoying the brew.

The future would have to take care of itself. The meal was too good to waste.


	7. Prophecy of Caliburn

The next day, Diarmuid was feeling much better. The infection was going down and he was able to move around. So he did, curious to see the castle.

King Arthur’s castle was very beautiful. Made out of dark grey stone, it was bigger and grander than Fionn’s castle. Ancient tapestries and beautiful paintings adorned the walls. Diarmuid paused to examine the portrait of an older, elegant man. There was something subtly familiar about the cast of his features.

Puzzling a bit over that, Diarmuid found some stairs and began climbing. He wasn’t going anywhere in particular now. He just wanted to see the view of the city from the battlements. Hmm, he’d have to find Mordred and take her up sometime. He’d likely have to carry her after a while though. There were so many stairs.

Pondering if it would be worthwhile, Diarmuid continued to climb. After a while he paused, wiping a bit of sweat off his forehead. Perhaps this hadn’t been a good idea. Well, at least he’d left Vase Killer behind in his room. Carrying that around right now would be too much effort.

Resuming his climb, Diarmuid finally reached the top of the tower. To his surprise, a lovely young woman was standing there. Her golden hair was intricately braided into a circular pattern behind her head. Yet despite the lovely hair, she was wearing trousers and a shirt. They were fine fabrics, though, dark blue and white. As Diarmuid took a step closer his chains tinkled and she turned to look, eyes wide.

“My lady,” Diarmuid said respectfully, bowing. The bow was shallower than he wanted, thanks to a pull on his wound. Wincing faintly, he straightened. She was gazing at him with a surprised air.

“I… I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked and her voice was a very pleasant soprano. Diarmuid blinked.

“My lady?” he questioned and saw her swallow. Whatever was wrong? “I am Daud O’Dyna.” That was his less commonly used last name. The woman blinked in sudden recognition.

“Oh, you are Archer’s companion.” Her gaze fell on the necklaces on his throat. “You must hold truly mighty power,” she murmured and Diarmuid stared. He did, but why would she say that? “I am Arturia,” she said after a moment and Diarmuid had a bad feeling he was forgetting something. Something very important. Yet, what? He scrambled through his memory but just couldn’t find it.

“My Lady Arturia, I am very pleased to meet you. You are here to enjoy the view?” Diarmuid said and she smiled before making a small gesture. Taking the invitation, he joined her and gazed over the city. “It is truly beautiful.” They had a wonderful view.

“Yes. It is gorgeous, and lets me forget the pettiness of human nature,” Arturia said with a small sigh and Diarmuid nodded. “But then, you would know that quite well, would you not?”

“Heh,” Diarmuid chuckled softly and Arturia gave him a questioning glance. “I did not need a mule seller to teach me that, my lady. My family disowned me and banished me, all for the crime of carrying the family curse.” Diarmuid gazed over the city. It seemed so pure, so unspoiled and peaceful, the little houses and the smoke rising from chimneys.

“Archer mentioned that. I am sorry,” Arturia said softly and Diarmuid shrugged, setting his chains to jangling.

“It is what it is. I do not hate them. In fact, I still love them,” Diarmuid said and knew he wasn’t talking about a family who’d never existed. No, he was talking about Fionn, the Fianna, about Ireland itself. “Yet, I cannot feel any true connection to them anymore. My heart has rejected them as they have rejected me.” If he could, would Diarmuid go back to Ireland? No, he wouldn’t. That time of his life was over and done.

“Ah. I believe I understand,” Arturia said, her hand resting on the battlement. “You know, they say the King does not empathize with the common folk.” That amused Diarmuid.

“No one expects him to. No nobles truly empathize with us, although some do try,” Diarmuid said easily, a bit of his amusement showing. “What is more concerning is that they say the King does not understand the minds of others.” Arturia looked at him, her green eyes wide and startled. “That is a weakness because if he does not understand the thoughts of his court, he cannot predict their actions.” Diarmuid shrugged, another musical jangle of chains. “Good advisors can counter this somewhat but no matter how loyal, they will have their own motives.”

“I see,” Arturia murmured before looking at him again. She met his eyes squarely, very forthright for a woman and a small smile played across her lips. “Do you fancy yourself good at understanding the minds of others?” Oh she had no idea. Diarmuid nodded with a small smile. “Can you tell me what is on my mind right now?” Diarmuid didn’t think she meant to be flirtatious but it was clear as day to him.

“You are thinking that I am a handsome and interesting man,” he said and smiled sadly as he saw Arturia’s eyes widen in near shock. Diarmuid reached out to gently grip her hand. “I regret there can never be anything between us.” Thankfully, that was obviously true. She was noble and he was not. To his surprise, though, she shuddered before heaving a sob and turning away.

“You don’t… I can’t… I’m sorry, it’s…” Arturia sounded choked and Diarmuid stared in alarm as she covered her face with her hands. He gently rested his hands on her shoulders, feeling them shaking beneath his palms.

“My lady?” Diarmuid truly didn’t understand what was happening now. His mind scrambled for an explanation. Did she have an odious fiancée? If so he’d be three for three on that! Then he heard footsteps and turned his head.

“PAPPY!” Mordred got up the final step and almost fell. Diarmuid let go of Arturia to catch her. “Why did you climb so far? We couldn’t find you, we were worried!” Archer was right behind her, wearing dark brown clothing and a frown on his face.

“She is right, it is far too soon for you to be – your Majesty!” Archer bowed and Diarmuid blinked, looking around as though he’d missed someone. Your… Majesty? Then his mind abruptly connected the dots. _Arturia. Arthur._ How had he forgotten that Arturia was her real name?!? He knew the King was actually a woman!

“I… apologize for my forwardness,” Diarmuid said, feeling a touch stunned as Arturia dried her cheeks, giving him a wan smile. “I was… confused.”

“It is fine. The gender of the king is irrelevant,” she said and Diarmuid felt that was a brazen lie. Her reactions to him indicated she was still a woman, with a woman’s needs. And she was married to another woman. Did Arturia have any inclinations that way? Did Guinevere? If not, this marriage was a recipe for disaster.

“What are you talking about?” Mordred said curiously before looking at Arturia with bright eyes. “I knew the King’s a girl but pappy Archer said not to say,” she said and Diarmuid choked as Archer stared at his daughter in horror. Arturia’s laugh, though was a beautiful sound.

“You are a joy child. How I wish you could stay,” Arturia’s smile was so fond that Diarmuid’s heart seized up. Couldn’t they stay? Couldn’t they tell Arturia what Mordred was to her? Could she perhaps open her heart to this daughter of her soul? Then Diarmuid felt a gentle tug and simply knew. They couldn’t. Mordred’s fate lay elsewhere.

_Curse the World._ Archer’s thought was layered with bitterness and pain. For a moment, Diarmuid felt the same way. Then he shelved the emotion. Perhaps if they stayed, they’d all be assassinated. Honestly, it was likely enough.

Then the pain hit.

“ _Shit!”_ Diarmuid hissed, bending over as it felt like a spike drilled into his side. Archer’s arms were suddenly around him, holding him up.

“You shouldn’t have climbed so far Daud. Now you’ll have to get down as well,” Archer said, quietly vexed with him. Diarmuid lifted his head, giving his lover a wan smile.

“It didn’t actually hurt until just now.” Why had that happened? Who knew. Then another arm was going around his other side.

“Please, let me help you,” Arturia said and Diarmuid blinked but accepted her aide. They both helped him down the stairs – fortunately they were wide – and Mordred skipped ahead. By the time they got down Diarmuid was exhausted. He felt accomplished though. Soon, very soon his human body would be fully mended. Then they could get the trial over with and get back on the road.

Not that he was eager to eat road dirt again, but it seemed to be their fate.

* * *

 

The trial took a full day, the usual for a capital crime and it proceeded as Lancelot expected.

The constables had kept him updated on their progress so he knew they’d found plenty of witnesses. Most of them were confused about what had started the altercation and most of them had not seen the mule seller stab Daud. They mostly remembered Archer and his bow, the sight of a man taking an arrow in the throat.

However, the constables had finally dug up their star witness. The man who’d shouted at Daud, he was also the mule seller’s brother. The fact that he hadn’t come to the authorities at all after his brother was killed indicated a certain degree of guilt, in Lancelot’s mind. While admitting no wrongdoing himself, the man had incriminated his brother, giving an account of the situation that matched Archer and Daud’s quite well. He did say he’d genuinely though Daud hadn’t paid, which was why he had shouted. Lancelot thought that wasn’t likely but they’d take it for now.

King Arthur decided to sit the trial himself and patiently took in the evidence. He also completely ignored the mule seller’s widow and his three children, all of whom were openly weeping. Lancelot sympathized with their grief yet thought it was a bit overdone. Also, if matters had turned out a bit differently another child would also be weeping. Lancelot didn’t think Archer would cry openly, but he would be quietly devastated at the loss of his companion and lover.

_Lover,_ Lancelot rolled the thought through his mind. He was familiar with such odd loves from his time in Paris, although they had no attraction for him. However, he didn’t think he had to ask why Daud and Archer had left Ireland. Lancelot shook his head at the thought. How hard it must be for them.

The trial finally concluded and Archer was judged not guilty by reason of self-defense. There was a fresh spate of weeping from the widow and her children, to Lancelot’s annoyance. It just seemed manipulative now. Then the court was breaking up, everyone filing outside.

“Ah, Sir Knight. I do not wish to be unkind and I know it is unfair but…” The head constable seemed to struggling to say something. Lancelot gave him an understanding smile.

“I know,” he said before glancing at Archer and Daud. “They know as well and they were buying a mule to leave in any case.” That was the only reason they could want a mule. The constable looked relieved, nodding his head.

“Thank you Sir Knight,” he said and Lancelot sighed inside. It really was unfair but this incident would be held against Archer and Daud. Merchants in the same class as Locksley would charge them extra or refuse to deal with them at all and there would be a potential for fights. In a year or two the whole thing would be forgotten but for now it was too fresh.

“Well, we’ve taken advantage of your generosity enough. We should be going,” Archer said firmly and Diarmuid nodded. Lancelot smiled at them both.

“To thank you for your expertise, Goodman Archer, all the knights pitched together to get you something,” Lancelot said easily. One of the squires was there, holding a mule for them, fully loaded. Archer’s eyes widened in surprise as Daud reached up to rub his throat with a grimace.

“Thank you, Sir Knight! We – Daud?!” Archer’s tone turned sharp as his friend bent over, gasping harshly. “Daud!”

“No pappy don’t have a fit!” Mordred grabbed his other arm but Daud shrugged her away. Archer grasped his arm and Daud tried to shake him off as well, but he was much stronger than a small child and held on easily.

“Morry, stay back! Archer, I – shit. Shit. Not now, not now not now!” Daud’s voice was choked and he had both hands on his throat as if he was attempting to strangle himself. Lancelot moved to help but then Daud abruptly straightened.

“Back, worms!” The voice that came from his voice was shockingly female, the most beautiful yet achingly cold soprano Lancelot had ever heard. Daud abruptly straight-armed Archer, shoving him away so violently he hit a wall with a painful looking thump. Then Daud turned towards him and Lancelot saw his eyes were silver and glittering like metal. “We are the Stars and we are far above you crawling maggots. Listen and heed our words!” Power seemed to radiate from Daud and everyone was frozen, unable to look away. “For your generosity, oh knight, we give you the bitter gift of prophecy. When the light of Caliburn shines a second time, the Knights of the Round Table, as you know it, shall be destroyed.” There was a faint gasp but Daud’s attention remained fixed on him. “And even in your pain and grief, you shall see a greater future for the Kingdom than you have ever known.” There was a deathly silence as those silver eyes glowed and Lancelot felt a horrified fascination, as if he was caught in the gaze of a snake.

“Your prophecy is nonsense,” Arthur’s cold voice managed to cut through the magic web that had enshrouded them. “Caliburn is broken and lost. That light shall never shine again.” Daud turned his head to look at the King before smiling. It was a nasty, unpleasant smile.

“Is that so, King of maggots? Then you have nothing to fear. But I would not be so certain. We are the Stars and we have given your our wisdom. Now choke on it!” But it was not Arthur who choked, but Daud. His eyes abruptly switched back to brown and he was choking violently, unable to draw breath.

“DAUD!” “PAPPY!” They were both on him in an instant and Lancelot moved to help as Daud collapsed and went into convulsions. Archer bent over his friend with a grim expression, pulling out a strip of leather. Mordred held his head as Archer forced a strip of leather between Daud’s teeth. Ah, they were trying to keep his tongue from falling back in his throat. Also, giving him something to clamp down on, he was grinding his teeth fit to break them. Lancelot gently touched Daud’s forehead, trying to sooth him with his small healing magic and found, to his surprise and distress, that there was nothing wrong with him physically. But powerful currents of conflicting magics were running through his body, clashing against each other and causing absolute chaos.

Fortunately the magic quickly began to die down and with it, Daud’s distress. He flopped against them and Lancelot could sense his exhaustion and pain as Archer gently removed the leather.

“It’s alright pappy. You’re going to be alright. I hate that Stars lady she’s so mean!” Mordred said and Lancelot sighed, running a hand through his hair. They’d just been given a prophecy. Briefly, he wished Merlin was here. Or perhaps not, he didn’t hate Daud after all. And Merlin couldn’t possibly let someone like this run free.

“We’re so sorry about this. It just happens sometimes…” Archer said with an air of grim despair that made Lancelot wince. Daud shuddered before heaving a sob and pressing a hand against his face. “Daud…” Archer hugged his friend close then and Daud rested his head against Archer’s shoulder. Mordred hugged them both, snuggling in between them. It was a painfully emotional scene.

“Everyone, it is nothing to worry about. Just a bit of errant nonsense.” The King was working to calm everyone and disperse the watchers. Ah, so many people had seen this, Lancelot was sure rumors of the prophecy would be spreading like wildfire. Archer was helping Daud up and they were looking at each other intensely, but saying nothing. Then Archer gently gripped Daud’s shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“Come on pappies, let’s go,” Mordred said, tugging them along and Lancelot watched as they quickly departed. As they left, despite the prophecy, Lancelot felt a bit of fear for them. Merlin wasn’t a bad man, he really wasn’t, but he was still a magus and dangerous. He would surely be looking for them when he heard of this. Shaking his head, Lancelot went to help Arthur.

They could only hope for the best.

* * *

 

After leaving Camelot, they began to head North.

Diarmuid felt an ache in his head and knew it was the runes. Since Stars had fucked them over in an absolutely spectacular fashion, it was up to the rest of the runes to keep them out of Merlin’s gaze. Diarmuid heard a lot of grumbling in the back of his head about it and one memorable night, which gave him a splitting headache, he had to endure all the other runes harping on Stars. Who was more than willing to harp right back. It made him wish for death.

“I’m so sorry,” Diarmuid muttered as Archer looked fatigued. He was using his limited magic to help with the concealment and it was draining him, badly. Archer blinked before focusing on him.

“It’s not your fault. It’s just one of those things,” he said, which didn’t make Diarmuid feel much better. “If you want to apologize, get the fire going.”

“Uh? Oh, right!” Diarmuid took Mordred and together they put together a makeshift fire pit and kindled the fire. Mordred was a bit withdrawn, she’d been like that since they left Camelot.

_We need to tell her the truth,_ Archer’s thought came to him and Diarmuid grimaced. _It’s time._

_Yes._ It was about time for them to start teaching Mordred to fight, too, and then her differences from humans would become very obvious. Unless the World unsealed them a little – which it might – Mordred’s innate strength and speed would leave her pappies’ in the dust.

_It’s not quite that bad. I did spar against Arturia, when I was alive. But her endurance will certainly be superhuman,_ Archer said calmly and Diarmuid sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to this. _It has to be done._

“Right,” Diarmuid muttered as he put on the food to cook. Just barley with a tiny bit of salt pork, it would take maybe an hour to soften but then it would fill the belly quite well. “Mordred, we need to talk about something.” It was a good time, while the food was cooking. Mordred looked at him with innocent green eyes and Diarmuid wasn’t sure how to start. Then Archer sat down to the other side of them.

“Mordred, I’ve noticed you never tell anyone your age. Have you noticed something odd about it?” Archer began in a gentle tone and Diarmuid was grateful to him. That was a good way to start. Mordred looked at Archer.

“Well, I know I’m four’ish? But when we were in Ludenwic, l’il Robin was four and he was just a _baby_ ,” Mordred said that with childish contempt and Diarmuid had to smile. “I’m more like Sella and she’s seven so I… I knew I couldn’t say I was four.” Mordred bit her lip before looking at Archer with wide green eyes. “Why am I different pappy Archer? Pappy Daud?” Then her gaze was on him and Diarmuid picked up the explanation as Archer hesitated.

“Remember the story of how we found you?” Diarmuid asked and Mordred nodded. “What we didn’t tell you was that woman, your mother, left a journal. She was Morgana le Faye, a powerful witch and the King’s sister.” Mordred’s eyes went wide at that. “She… made you. You’re a homunculus,” Diarmuid said and saw that Mordred didn’t know the word. Well, she wouldn’t.

“A homunculus is an artificial being,” Archer took over, to Diarmuid’s relief. “You were grown in Morgana’s body but not truly part of her. She meant to copy the King, for her own wicked ends. All of which came to nothing when she died of the plague.”

“…Does that mean the King is my mother?” Mordred asked, hope suddenly shining in those bright green eyes. Hope that dimmed when they both shook their heads firmly.

“The King doesn’t know about you and what Morgana did was very wrong,” Diarmuid said as gently as he could and saw those green eyes water. Ah, Mordred so wanted a mother. It made his heart hurt.

“But the King liked me!” Mordred protested and Archer gently cuddled her close. “She did! Can’t we go back pappies?” Mordred appealed, her green eyes wide but they both knew better.

“Merlin wouldn’t like you Morry,” Archer said gently and she began to sniffle. “He’s put a lot of time and effort into the King. He also cares for her, deeply, as a friend. He would be afraid that you’d hurt her.” With good reason, sadly. Morgana might be dead but Merlin would be wise to assume her plots went on. “The knights would be afraid too. I’m sorry, it just can’t be.”

“Pappies…” Then Mordred sobbed and buried her face in Archer’s chest. He held her close, crooning to her as Diarmuid joined them, hugging them both. Ah, this was so hard. They let Mordred cry until she was done, just holding her close. Finally, Mordred looked up, sniffling a bit. “That’s why I grow faster?”

“Yes, Morgana wanted you to grow up quickly to challenge the King,” Archer said calmly as Diarmuid let go and checked the food, stirring the barley to make sure it didn’t burn on the bottom. Mordred sniffed again, rubbing her eyes.

“I don’t wanta challenge the King, she’s nice,” Mordred muttered and Diarmuid was glad to hear it. Although he feared circumstances might force their hands. “What are we going to do pappies?”

“We’re going to teach you everything we know and help you be whatever you want to be,” Diarmuid said, still stirring the pot. “Whatever you want, we’ll try to make it happen.” Although that beggared the question of what Mordred could be. A knight? If she wanted that, they’d somehow make it happen.

“But it’s rather early to worry about that,” Archer said with a small smile, gently patting Mordred on the back. She rested against him, closing her eyes.

_“Continue walking and your path will become clear,”_ Diarmuid’s vocal cords were highjacked, but this time by Earth. Mordred and Archer both looked up as he spoke calmly in a woman’s voice, still stirring the food. _“Your fate lies in the North.”_ …Bugger!

“Okay. I trust the Earth lady,” Mordred said with a smile, put at ease by that message. Diarmuid and Archer exchanged a glance but said nothing. Then the food was done and as he portioned it out, Diarmuid tried hard not to think about it.

Mordred was too young to understand how cruel fate could be.


End file.
